Dance Me to the End of Love
by fitterhappier
Summary: In turn of the century Moscow, a lowly pianist is hired to play for a privileged dancer taught to believe that talent and success are the only things in life that matter. Will she let her guard down and risk it all for a chance at true love? AH.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

In 1917, after the Revolution, the Communist Government groomed the Bolshoi Ballet to be the major dance company of Russia. During that time, Demetri Romanoff, an aristocrat of Russian society and a former dancer in St. Petersburg's Imperial Ballet, brought his latest conquest - star ballerina, Isabella Swan, whom he'd recently acquired from the United States - to be trained at the Bolshoi School in Moscow. There she would receive private instruction under the tutelage of Nicholas Zverev among other prominent members of Ballet Russe. Demetri also managed every other aspect of Isabella's life, including being her sole guardian, provider…and lover.

At the time this story takes place, Isabella is nineteen years old. Demetri is thirty-four.

**

**

Bearing down into the merciless wind and frigid night air littered with snowflakes and doing his best not to slip on the ice-covered sidewalk, Edward Cullen pulled up the collar of his worn woolen pea coat and wrapped his arms tightly across his chest. It was nearly midnight in Moscow and he hadn't eaten since the stale piece of toast he dipped into his lukewarm mug of coffee at 6am that morning, but he knew there would be a plate of whatever Rosalie had made for dinner warming on the stove for him when he pushed open the front door of his older brother, Emmett's, modest home.

It was on nights like these when Edward would look up into the clear, star-filled sky and think about the city on the other side of the world. The city of his birth. He was a long way from Chicago's West Side, but for the last three years Moscow had been the only home he'd known.

Edward kicked off his worn-out boots and placed them by the cracking fire to dry. He hung his coat up on the nail and shook the wet from his thick, bronze hair. Rosalie and Emmett would have turned in hours ago so he made sure to be as quiet as possible as he moved around the small kitchen. Expectant mothers had the hearing of a hound, he'd learned from experience over the past few months.

_Edward, _

_Just potatoes and carrots tonight, and as much broth as I could save you. Not enough money for meat this month. _

_We'll do better next month, don't worry._

_Love,_

_Rosalie (and Emmett, too. He's just being stubborn.)_

Edward smiled and folded the note written in Rosalie's meticulous script into his trouser pocket. He spooned the stew into a chipped bowl and ate quietly at the kitchen table alone by the light of the fire. Candles were scarce and there was no need for him to waste them on the illumination of his meager supper. But it was delicious. Rosalie knew how to work wonders with the little she had to work with and money was tight, to put it mildly. She would only be able to keep her housecleaning position for another month or so, as her pregnancy was proving more difficult than expected, and Emmett was working sixty hour weeks at the mill on the outskirts of town in order to make ends meet. It felt wrong to be giddy with excitement while the only family he had on this earth was struggling to survive. But he couldn't contain it. He wanted to run down the hall and jump onto their rickety bed in exclamation. How excited they would be when he told them the news he received only an hour ago! That he had found a new job! Playing piano accompaniment for the dancers at The Bolshoi Ballet Academy!

At the time this story takes place, Edward is twenty-one.

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**First time doing a prologue! Review!**


	2. Close Enough is Not Good Enough

Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyer

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**Close Enough is Not Good Enough**

The clock on the wall chimed seven in the evening when Edward pushed the door open to the dance studio. His shift didn't start until eight but it was his first day and he wanted to be prepared. He'd been to the studio only once previously- last week when he applied for the pianist position advertised on a flyer stuck to a telephone pole- and he didn't want to take any chances in the event that he got lost on his first day. But he'd found it with no problem - a non-descript building shaped like a two-story warehouse near the center of town. It was shabbier than he expected it would be, although he had no idea what to expect in general when it came to the position he was given. When he arrived clutching the flyer in his frostbitten hand, he was met by a pleasant, round faced girl behind the reception desk and a stern, grumpy looking man standing next to her. She was Anna, and she introduced him in a thick accent as Nicolai.

"I've come about the position…offered here on this flyer," Edward said, holding up the damp piece of paper.

"_You_ play?" Nicolai asked.

"Yes, sir."

"How long?"

"Since I was six. ...Fifteen years, sir."

"Ok then. Play."

Edward looked around and behind him but Nicolai made no move to show him exactly _where_ he was expected to play.

"There's a piano in the studio down that hall," Anna said. She pointed to the dark corridor that continued to her left. Edward smiled in thanks. Nicolai's expression remained unchanged and he grumbled something to Anna in the language that Edward still had difficulty deciphering.

The lights were not on in the studio. Edward didn't feel comfortable turning them on without permission, but didn't need light to play, so he walked across the wooden floor and sat at the piano in the dark. He lifted the cover and ran his long fingers up and down the keys in perfect scales. She was tuned to perfection and Edward smiled as the glorious sound bounced and echoed around the room. He began to play the first thing that came to his mind - Chopin's Nocturne in C-Sharp Minor. He assumed Nicolai would know the piece, it was fairly popular, and could grade him according to the way he'd heard it played by others. When he finished he rested his hands in his lap and waited. Unsure if anyone had even heard him, he listened to the clock tick on the wall and wondered if he should begin playing something else. Perhaps that piece was no good. He immediately panicked and vowed to do better on the next one. Chopin again. This time Ballade No. 2 in F Major. That one always made him sweat but if he got it right he knew it would leave an impression. He began softly at first with just the right amount of pressure, just the appropriate amount of flourish. When the time came, he paused and launched into it with everything he had, his fingers a blur, his precision flawless. By the time he finished he had beads of sweat forming on his forehead and running down the bridge of his nose. He put his hands in his lap and steadied his breathing. Again there was no sound. Only the ticking of the clock on the wall. Edward sat still and waited.

"You read music?" a voice bellowed from the doorway. Edward jerked his head up and squinted into the dark.

"Yes, sir. I brought some with me." Nicolai walked past the window and into the lone beam of light provided by the streetlamp on the sidewalk.

"You don't have to. We have it here. We give it to you. You learn it. You play it. You play it right every time." Nicolai flipped on the lights and Edward squinted in the new brightness. When his eyes adjusted he was finally able to clearly see the instrument he'd been playing on. A Bosendorfer. And a fine example at that. Edward ran his hand over the sleek wood frame, admiring how there was not one single smudge anywhere to be found.

"This is a very beautiful piano, sir."

"Good. You play it next week at eight o'clock and we'll see if she likes you." With that Nicolai turned on his heel and walked away, shutting off the lights as he left.

Edward sat on the piano bench for ten more minutes, not playing, just sitting; wondering if Nicolai expected him to sit there, unmoved, until next week. His stomach began growling and Edward had to assume he was being ridiculous. He stood and walked out of the room and down the corridor the way he came. There was no one behind the reception desk and every light had been turned out in the building. Tempted to look around but petrified of being caught, Edward opened the door and let himself out, shutting it behind him and turning the knob to make sure it had locked. He then began his long walk home to tell Emmett and Rosalie the good news.

**

Upon his arrival on the first evening of his employment, Edward was met with a sweet smile from Anna, who immediately blushed bright red, hiding her face in her shoulder when he smiled back.

"Where is everyone?" Edward asked curiously, ducking down so she'd be forced to look at him. There wasn't another soul in sight and no sound except for the buzzing of the fluorescent lights overhead.

"Everyone has already left for the night," she answered. "This time is reserved for private instruction only. No other dancers or musicians are to be here and no other classes are held after seven o'clock."

"Oh...So who's here then?"

"Right now? Only you, me, and Nicolai. He's in the back."

Edward nodded in polite understanding and made his way down the hall to the studio. Once again it was dark and once again Edward sat at the piano alone in the darkness. He placed his rucksack under the bench even though Nicolai told him it wouldn't be necessary to bring his own sheet music. He didn't want anything to jeopardize his new job and Nicolai seemed like the kind of man who expected you to read his mind. Edward had nightmares all week about showing up unprepared and Nicolai badgering him, _Where is the sheet music I told you to bring!!?_ Edward desperately needed the wages this job would provide, although when he thought about it he wasn't entirely sure how much he was being paid.

He was about to get up and ask Anna if perhaps he made a mistake and misunderstood Nicolai's direction from last week. Maybe he had the days mixed up. Everything had happened so fast and he was quite overwhelmed by the experience, it wouldn't be out of the question for him to have misheard. But just as he reached for his bag to leave, he heard the flick of the switch and the studio was flooded with white light. Edward moved his head to the right, still partially blocked by the propped up lid of the piano but enough so he could see who had just walked through the door.

It wasn't Nicolai.

It was a girl.

Edward immediately froze. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn't find the words. The girl had her back to him as she removed her long overcoat and hung it behind the door. She hadn't noticed him sitting behind the piano on the other side of the room and she wasn't looking around, which was causing Edward to struggle to see her face without revealing himself. He held his breath, debating on whether or not to make himself known. She padded across the slick wooden floor and set her large dance bag on the chair in front of the mirrored wall. She seemed lost in a world of her own thoughts, going through the motions robotically. Edward noticed that she was shivering slightly. It was cold in the studio, cold enough for him to still be wearing his wool coat buttoned all the way up. The girl was wearing white opaque tights and a leotard and a baggy top made of sweatshirt material. Her hair was pulled back in a braid that was fashioned into a bun at the back of her head. Instead of making her appear matronly, the style only added to her angelic glow.

After meticulously lacing up her pink ballet shoes, she began doing a series of stretches on the far side of the room. She faced the mirrored wall nearest the piano and finally Edward could see her face uninterrupted. His breath hitched in his throat at the sight of her and he leapt from his seat to a standing position, knocking over the piano bench with a racket. She gasped and clutched her hand to her chest, but nothing more. She didn't scream. She didn't call for help. She just stared.

Edward dug his hands into the pockets of his coat, partly to show her that he had no intention of hurting her, and partly because he didn't want her to see his bony fingers and dirty fingernails. He looked up from the floor to find her still staring at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed with her head cocked to the side; her chest rising and falling in deep panting breaths. Neither of them spoke. Edward couldn't tear his gaze away from her chocolate eyes, her porcelain skin, her full lips. The inquisitive look on her face made Edward wish that he could read her mind. If he could he would have known that the crispness of his emerald eyes was having the same unexpected effect on her.

"Ah, I see you've met the new pianist," Nicolai announced, entering the studio grandly and bowing to them both. "What's your name again?"

"…Edward."

"Very good. ...Edward, this is Isabella. ...Isabella, this is Edward. There. Now that you're introduced we can begin." He moved to the center of the floor and Isabella followed. Edward righted the piano bench and sat down. _Steady now. Steady. _He blew into his hands and then rubbed them on his thighs, the friction providing little warmth.

"…He should be good, I suppose," Edward heard Nicolai say to Isabella. "They're a dime a dozen, but we will see."

"Yes," Bella answered curtly, not taking her eyes off Edward. "I think he'll do just fine."

"Very good. He's incredibly cheap. ...Alright, Isabella, first position and adagio." Isabella did as she was told and took first position. Nicolai left her side and walked to the piano where Edward sat. Edward was unsure what his role should be during warm up, but he would soon find out.

"Take these." Nicolai handed him a large booklet. "It's the sheet music for the performance. Follow along as I say, and remember, you play with no mistakes while she dances. Yes?"

"Yes." Edward nodded in the affirmative. For the first time in his life his hands began to shake, and not because of the temperature in the studio.

"She will warm up for twenty minutes. You wait just like this until she is through, and then you play."

Edward watched Isabella's reflection in the mirrored wall while Nicolai spoke. She was doing a series of exercises consisting of long, graceful movements across the perimeter of the room. Her muscles flexed and relaxed with each stride and Edward was surprised by the power held in her tight, little body. She was slight with a slim waist but there were definite curves and a pleasing shape to her body. She moved like water and Edward wondered if she smelled like he imagined she might, like roses or peaches or something even sweeter than that, a smell that could be tasted when mixed with the sweat beaded on her flawless skin and....he was forced out of his daydream by Nicolai's stern cough. Embarrassed that he had been caught staring, Edward asked the first question that came to his mind.

"Um...how long until the performance?"

"Opening night is April the 22nd."

They were currently in November.

As if he anticipated what Edward's next question might be, Nicolai continued. "The ballet is called 'Raymonda'. Isabella is playing the lead, _Raymonda_." Nicolai raised his eyebrows as if to say, _Anything else?_ Edward shook his head and placed the sheet music on the stand. He spent the rest of the session attempting to keep up with Nicolai's rapid fire direction to both he and Isabella while attempting to read the complex sheet music he had been handed only moments earlier and to do both of those things without making a single mistake.

_Again, Isabella, again! Croise devant!  
_

_Faster and from the beginning! Edward, back to the beginning! Again!_

When the session ended, Edward folded the bound pages and slid them carefully into his rucksack, wondering what his first words to Isabella might be as they left for the night. Should he compliment her on a fine practice? Should he ask her if there was anything he could do to improve his playing? He thought of several icebreakers that would end with the two of them laughing and her putting her hand on his forearm while they walked out together.

But by the time he looked up, Isabella was already packed and gone.


	3. Technique is What You Learn in Class

Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyer

* * *

**Technique is What You Learn in Class**

Each day like clockwork Edward arrived at the dance studio at 7pm sharp. He said hello to Anna through shivering teeth and she smiled and blushed into her shoulder. Occasionally they would talk briefly about the weather, particularly if it had snowed during the day, since snow made Edward's walking commute far more treacherous not to mention adding an hour to its duration. Several times Anna extended the invitation for him to stay at her house only two streets away, to which Edward would always politely decline.

Edward brought home the sheet music that Nicolai had given him on the first day and memorized it by sitting at the kitchen table while Rosalie cooked supper. He would close his eyes and visualize the keys laid out flat in front of him, then he would place his fingers in the appropriate spots and mimic the notes on the page in time with the key signature and the music in his head. It had taken weeks but now during sessions he barely needed to look at the music in front of him in order to know what measures came next.

Since he was always the first one in the studio, he had gotten into the habit of turning the lights on and straightening the rows of chairs along the wall, especially the front row where Isabella set her bag and sat to lace her slippers. He would then sit at the piano and select a movement to work on. Since Emmett and Rosalie didn't have a piano, the hour before Isabella arrived was his only opportunity to properly practice on an instrument that wasn't in his imagination.

Not much had changed since their first rehearsal. Each night at eight on the dot Isabella would arrive, drop her bag on the chair, hang her coat on the hook behind the door, lace up her slippers, and begin to stretch – all without acknowledging Edward's presence in the slightest. She didn't look in his direction and she didn't speak a word to him. Any and all communication during the rehearsal was done through Nicolai, the trainer.

It was an especially frigid Monday evening and the studio windows were coated in a thick layer of ice. Edward's breath hung in the air each time he exhaled and his nose wouldn't stop running. He pulled his wool coat around him and blew into his chapped, red hands. _Gloves._ He needed gloves. Emmett's only pair were a loaner from his friend at the mill and there was no way in hell Edward was going to take Rosalie's no matter how many times she offered.

He had just finished running through the last few measures of the first act and was sitting quietly with his hands in his lap when he heard her bag hit the floor. She looked flustered and agitated, much like she did the first night he saw her. Usually she remained emotionless throughout the duration of the class, taking direction from Nicolai and speaking without the slightest hit of feeling. But that evening was different. She flung her coat across the chairs and rummaged through her bag impatiently, as if looking for something she had obviously not packed. Edward strained to make out some of the words she grumbled under her breath, but she was speaking too low and too quickly for him to catch them. He thought about asking her if there was anything he could do to provide assistance of some kind. It seemed like as good a time as any to break the ice with the fascinating creature he'd been watching for weeks behind a smokescreen of music and motion.

Edward opened his mouth to do so just as Nicolai entered the studio. He clapped his hands together to announce his presence and began talking loudly to Isabella about the routine they were to go over that night. Edward had yet to be acknowledged by either of them and remained in his seat awaiting direction. The roomed actually seemed to be getting colder as he waited, if that was even possible. He sat on his hands as his teeth began to chatter.

Isabella moved to the center of the floor and took first position. From her vantage point she could see Edward's reflection in the mirror. She was wearing black opaque tights, her pink slippers and an oversized sweater that came down to her thighs. Her brow furrowed as she noticed the handsome young pianist in a worn gray pea-coat sitting on his talented hands. She thought for a moment that she had caught him staring at her again, but again she wasn't sure if it was just her imagination. She unfastened the tight bun in her hair and let her long loose curls flow down her back. At that moment it was the only thing she could think of to get his attention. It worked and she suppressed a smirk as his shining green eyes shot up to land on her and her numerous mirrored reflections. Her skin broke out in goosebumps as she felt his eyes burn into her back and travel down the length of her body only to travel back up again and stop exactly where they had started. She took great care in arching her chest forward while she gathered her hair into a ponytail, tying it tightly at the base of her neck. She knew he was watching each agonizingly slow movement of her fingers through her thick, chocolate hair, and even though she was shivering in the cold air of the studio, she felt the flush of heat creep up her throat and face as she caught a glimpse of his piercing stare out of the corner of her eye.

Nicolai barked at Edward to begin and Isabella held her breath while she waited for the first notes from Edward's piano to fill the room. They came and she let out an audible sigh. The weeks of practice had made it possible for Edward to learn the music so completely that he could easily take his eyes off the keys in order to watch the puffs of air push out of Isabella's mouth and nostrils as she danced and repeated drills again and again and again. Before long she was completely wringing wet; sweat dripping from her nose, the sweat line visible down her back, her hair wet against her neck, and her forehead glistening under the white lights. Just looking at her made Edward warmer.

Without the luxury of movement to break a sweat and keep him warm, and with shoes already struggling to keep out the snow and slush of the Russian winter, Edward's feet were frozen an hour into rehearsal. He was struggling to get through a particularly challenging piece of music, his finges almost completely numb with cold, when he heard Isabella's voice interrupt them. She sounded angry and when he looked up he saw her stalking over to the radiator.

"It's broken. _Again_. That's the third time this week," she bitched.

"Welcome to Russia," Nicolai shrugged. "What can I tell you?"

"You tell me it will be fixed. Or_ I will _tell..." Isabella uttered a name Edward hadn't heard before, a name that made Nicolai cringe. "...that you are trying to freeze his star ballerina to death." She didn't wait for him to answer, instead returning to the center of the floor and nodding in Edward's direction for him to resume.

The next day Edward entered the studio to find the lights already on and a warm hum emitting from the shaky radiator. He looked around to see if he was alone but there was no one else in sight. He bent over to take a closer look and was startled when Nicolai suddenly appeared at his side.

"Better? Warmer now?" _Only if you stand directly in front of it, _Edward thought to himself. "She has never mentioned the cold before. Now all of a sudden she is cold. Ah well, what can you do, hmm?" Nicolai smirked and shrugged his shoulders.

The sound of Isabella's arrival jerked Edward's attention towards the door. His heart leapt at the sight of her. Her hair was down and hanging loosely over her shoulders. It was held back from her face with a cloth band that covered her ears. Her cheeks and lips with bright pink from the frigid wind. She wore a long woven scarf wrapped around her neck and tucked neatly into her heavy overcoat protecting her from the cold like a delicate fawn.

She carried something in her arms as she walked straight towards them with purpose. She stopped in front of them and Edward was assaulted with her fragrance. He had never been so close to her before and her mere presence made him lightheaded. She smelled like berries and lilacs and everything good and sweet. He was able to focus enough to finally see what she was holding - it was a furry hat with ear flaps, a folded scarf, and a pair of heavy woolen mittens, the kind you can button back to leave your fingers free.

"Here," she said without emotion, stuffing the hat and gloves and scarf into the trainer's hands. "These are for the pianist."

Isabella returned to her chair and began lacing up her slippers, doing her best to watch Edward out of the corner of her eye as he wrapped the scarf around his neck and slid the gloves over his fingers. Edward looked up and their eyes met briefly from across the room. He smiled in thanks and Isabella felt her stomach swirl in a way that only happened when she was in the presence of the interesting boy who played piano. A smile began to form in the corner of her mouth without her permission. She bit her lip to stop it and looked away.

_Several weeks later_

"How is the job going, Edward? We barely see you anymore," Rosalie asked, setting a dish of rice and a glass of water on the table in front of him. For the first time in weeks, they were sitting around the dinner table together. It was the first Sunday that Emmett hadn't worked overtime at the mill and Rosalie had been ordered to remain in the house and on bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy.

"Yeah, Ed, what exactly _are_ you doing, anyway? Banging ballerinas?" Emmett snorted, ripping into a stale roll and smothering it with butter.

"He's playing piano for _Bolshoi_ ballerinas, Emmett," Rosalie corrected. "And you can thank Edward for the food you're eating tonight. He bought it with the money from his first paycheck."

"Well it's about time you started pulling your weight around here, little bro. I was this close to sending you back to that shit-hole on the other side of the tracks where you came from."

Rosalie stiffened and put her fork down. "Don't start, Emmett, alright?"

"They're my friends," Edward said, wincing at his brother's remark.

"They're thieves," Emmett replied, his face reddening. "That's why you came back here."

"It is not and you know it. Things just got...complicated there. That's all..." Edward looked down at his plate and took a drink of water. Emmett rolled his eyes and went back to eating.

Rosalie put her hand on Edward's shoulder. "We're glad to have you here, Edward. Don't listen to him. He's just cranky from putting up with his pregnant elephant of a wife."

"I know he's still going down to that house. To see his so-called _friends_," Emmett mumbled, helping himself to more rice. "...Better than bringing them here, I suppose."

Edward chose to ignore his ignorant older brother this time. It wasn't worth it. Emmett would never understand his relationship with the group of people on the outskirts of town who lived in a large white house and who were poorer than even they were. But they were rich in so much else and Edward had lived amongst them until very recently. It was a house of music and art and literature and poetry and life and laughter and love.

And love. ...Which is why Edward left.

**

It was the end of a three-day weekend and Edward was anxious to get back to work. He told himself it was because he missed the access to the piano but it was really because he missed the access to Isabella. There was something about her that he couldn't shake. Most of the time she was rude and dismissive, if she even acknowledged him at all. But in between the over-confidence and defensive layers of pride, there was a spark of generosity and a propensity for caring that Edward knew, if tapped into, was limitless.

Edward sat at the piano and ran through scales, something he did when he was nervous, until he heard the studio door open. He looked up with a beaming smile on his face only to have it fall away when Isabella entered the room with another man. An older man. A handsome well dressed man whose hand was resting on the small of her back. The very place where for months Edward dreamt nightly of running the tip of his sharp tongue over. Edward's eyes shot down to the keys, appalled at the possession this man was displaying over Isabella. _You're holding her too tightly. Can't you see that? She doesn't like it._ His mind raced and his heart broke to hear the soft gentle tones of a lover in the man's voice as he's spoke into her ear.

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay? I haven't seen you dance in so long. Are you warm enough in here, love? Do you feel alright? Well if you're sure, I'll be back for you in a few hours."

Edward looked up and regretted it instantly. The man had taken two fingers to gently lift Isabella's chin and placed a sweet kiss on her lips, mumbling into her mouth just loud enough for Edward to hear him tell her, "You are so beautiful. The most beautiful girl in all of Russia."

The man left without ever glancing in Edward's direction and Edward watched him push through the door and disappear before he turned to Isabella. He was startled to find her staring back at him, intently, with her bottom lip between her teeth and a fresh hint of rosy blush across her cheeks. Her eyes were dancing over him with a hunger and life he hadn't seen in them before. But they darted away quickly and went dead when she realized she'd been caught. To punish herself, to punish them both, she didn't look to him again for the rest of the night.

**

Nicolai was on a rampage and Edward had just walked into the eye of the storm.

"Why is he not here?!! Eh?!! _Completely irresponsible_. Where is he??!" he roared, pacing the length of studio. He had already kicked over all the chairs in the room with the exception of the one Isabella was sitting on. Edward's eyes darted to her to make sure she was unharmed by the trainer's current mania. But once again he found her lacing up her slippers without so much as a hair out of place. He giggled at her complete lack of interest in what was taking place around her and she looked up at the sound of his laugh, her eyes as wide as saucers. She quickly walked away to resume her stretches at the barre and Edward took his place at the piano.

"You there," Nicolai barked, pointing at him. "Edward, yes?"

Edward jerked his head towards the trainer, his cheeks flushing red.

"Huh?"

"How tall are you?

"Um, 6'1, I think.'"

"Weight?"

"I dunno."

"Get up. Come over here."

Edward had never been out from behind the safety of the piano during rehearsal before, but he did as he was told. He slinked out and Nicolai jerked Edward's coat off and threw it in the corner, leaving him in just a thin t-shirt with a deep V in the front. Edward thought he heard a tiny gasp but it must have been the radiator.

Grabbing Edward's hips Nicolai stood him in the center of the room without an explanation, without addressing him at all. He might as well have been a prop for the stage production.

"Alright Isabella you can at least work on placement and landing. .._.You_...." He poked Edward in the chest. "You just stand there. Do you think you can handle that?"

Edward nodded and the trainer left the room for a moment, leaving Edward and Isabella in an awkward silence. Edward could hear his breath ragged and shaking. He hated being on display. He didn't understand how Isabella could stand it, day after day being the center of attention in the middle of a wide open space. He heard Isabella rustling behind him but all he could do was look at the floor and shake.

Nicolai came back with an old record player from the front room and scratchy, wobbly music began to pour out of it. He lifted Edward's arms out from his side. "Hold like that," he grunted and proceeded to give Isabella instruction in a mixture of French and Russian. Then there was counting and the sound of padded spinning thumps coming up quickly behind him and a breeze and then Isabella was right fucking _there,_ pressed against Edward's back with her face buried in Edward's left shoulder. Her hand came around and crossed over Edward's waist, skimming Edward's stomach through the thin cotton. She turned her face in slowly, her breath curling over Edward's neck. He closed his eyes and tried to breath. _Her smell_. Like sweat and lavender and her chest was so warm against his back and through his thin shirt.

"Alright that was good. Again." and Isabella was gone just as suddenly as she had come, walking back to the starting position like absolutely nothing had happened. Like she hadn't just invaded his soul.

And so it went for over an hour. Isabella continued to practice around Edward, nailing down positioning and timing as she ran her hands over his lean muscled body and even at one point draping herself across his forearm and arching the small of her back and pushing her breasts into the air. Nicolai made Isabella stretch her neck all the way back, exposing her throat, and Edward was convinced that there was nothing more erotic than Isabella's slightly parted lips. She whipped herself into an upright position and abandoned him alone in the middle of the floor. But only for a moment before he felt the electricity of her return. She spun across the room and collapsed on her knees at Edward's feet, casting her eyes up the length of his body. Edward bit his lip and looked up at the ceiling as if to say, _Dear god help me_.

Little did he know that inside she was dying too. Maybe more of a confused death than Edward because Edward already _knew _what he wanted_._ He already knew that she would be the death of him and he'd come to that conclusion fairly quickly with little internal derision. But now he had to live with it; with the fact that Isabella belonged to another man and that any interest she had in him was feign and forced and for show.

But this was the first time Isabella felt the deep pain of longing. She told herself it was because she felt sorry for him,_ The poor boy, cold and alone. Where did he learn to play like that?_, not because she was falling for him. How could she be? They'd never spoken a word to each other in all the hours spent in the same room together and yet she felt closer to him than to anyone. She was a fool to think that this moment had been a turning point. He was just a lowly pianist. He was good for nothing else but to provide entertainment for the people that mattered, of which he was not one. That's what Demetri had told her repeatedly whenever she began chattering away about the talented pianist and the beautiful music he made.

She had never been that close to Edward before and while Edward's breathing sped up as a result of him doing nothing but standing in place, Isabella couldn't help but do the same, gasping for breath as she fled to and from his side. What Edward didn't know was that the reason this particular practice session was lasting so long, the reason Isabella kept repeating turns over and over again was because Nicolai kept telling her in French mixed with Russian mixed with English to, _"Take his arm, Isabella, as if he were Alexei, and put it to your chest. To your chest Isabella. You're missing the full turn if you don't take his arm and push off him."_ But Isabella kept missing that turn. Over and over until the record scratched to a stop. Nicolai walked to the center of the floor, took her hand, brought her over to Edward and placed her hand on Edward's chest, over his beating heart. Edward stood rigid like a deer in headlights

"Give me your hand."

Edward gave the instructor his hand and he put it on Isabella's round hip. Isabella looked at her instructor with pleading eyes. _Please don't do this. Please don't let him touch me. it's not safe for me_.

"It's not the same without him playing." Isabella gulped, making excuses for her foibles.

"Nonsense. You're a professional. Now take his arm and let him turn you. You can do that can't you? Both of you?"

"Yes," she mumbles, looking at her feet.

"..."

"Edward?"

"Yes, I mean...ok, yes."

"It's easy, just turn her, just take your hand and push her hip, she'll follow and take your arm using her weight to complete the movement. Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes I understand," Edward answered quickly, wanting nothing more than to do it right, to not make a mistake. The needle dropped and the music began.

"Go!"

Edward pushed Isabella's hip and she moved and Edward tried not to throw up as she grabbed his arms and pushed away.

"Yes! At last!" Nicolai clapped. "Well done. Both of you. ...You can return to the piano, Edward. That's all for today."

Edward smiled wide and walked back to where he belonged, looking up for a moment to see Isabella smiling back at him and wiping her face with a towel.

* * *


	4. It Doesn't Take Talent to Balance

Note: Each chapter of this story is necessary for plot advancement. This will most likely be a long story with a lot of chapters of different lengths. I'm going to continue it regardless of the number of reviews, although reviewing is nice. It's been brewing in my head for a very long time.

I have not abandoned my other story. I'm merely making room for both. Thank you for giving this story a chance.

This chapter is made up of a few quick "flashes" that are used to build upon and along Edward and Isabella's relationship over a period of a few months. Because of who they are, it takes longer than normal for them to make progress.

Steph Meyer owns Twilight

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**It Doesn't Take Talent to Balance  
**

Edward played the role of Isabella's lead - the gallant knight Jean de Brienne - for over a week. It required nothing more than for him to stand in one place and not move unless he was instructed to do so. This was something Edward could do better than anyone and it was far less intimidating than trying to portray anyone or anything _gallant_. During the last hour of their practice blocks, Edward would take his position in the center of the dance floor and occupy a space reserved, in his humble opinion, for someone far more worthy of Isabella's time and attention than he. And even though he knew he was nothing more than a prop, a toy that could be discarded at any time as soon someone more relevant came along, he found himself growing increasingly comfortable around her. Similarly, Isabella's curiosity had begun to consume her and she found herself reaching out to Edward and blatantly touching him when there was no obvious need to do so. In turn Edward would squeeze Isabella's hip harder than necessary when it came time for him to turn her and Isabella would let her fingertips brush over Edward's chest longingly before she pulled them away. She would linger by his side for longer than necessary, forcing Nicolai to bellow and command her redo the pattern. Their gazes grew openly heated and lust-filled, yet through it all they still hadn't managed top speak a single word to each other. All questions, answers, and instruction continued to filter through Nicolai, the long-suffering trainer caught in the middle.

_Tell him to bring his arm down a little on the 12th measure_, _Nicolai_. Or, _Can he come in for an extra rehearsal tomorrow_, to which Nicolai needed only to look in Edward's direction for the answer he knew would be there. "Yes. Yes of course," Edward would say, his eyes never leaving Isabella's face.

**

It was a Saturday when Isabella's true partner returned to take his rightful place by her side.

Edward did his best to hide the devastation caused by Alexei's return. He didn't realize how much he was living for those moments with Isabella until Alexei walked through the door. It was then that Edward decided he hated him. He scowled at Alexei's immediate attitude of superiority towards those around him and, looking over to Isabella, Edward saw that she was doing the same. She was being aloof and arrogant towards her new partner, as though she were daring him to match her skill. Edward hoped that the root of her dislike for him came from the fact that the marvelous, statuesque male lead of the year's most highly anticipated ballet paled in comparison to the street rat that had been standing like an awkward tree trunk in his place. Edward knew he was asking alot of fate.

When it came time for Isabella to perform the move where she pressed her trembling body against the back of her male lead, the move that floored Edward every time she practiced it with him, Isabella glanced over and caught sight Edward watching her, his face contorted in anguish, as she betrayed his memory with Alexei. She remembered the little sigh that always escaped Edward's lips when her hands found their way around his waist, the gentle sigh she spent the entire practice waiting to hear, and it tore a hole in her heart when they reached that part and it didn't come.

Her foot caught and she stumbled to the floor.

"Ape!' she exclaimed, pushing Alexei out of her way and grabbing a towel. "Enough! Your wide hips and sausage feet are taking up the entire floor!"

Edward smirked behind his hand. He had to admit, she was sexy when she was cocky and cruel. It was the way she'd been taught to react when her emotions took hold of her and caught her off guard. _Isabella, if you feel insecure, the best thing you can do is to make everyone else around you feel like dirt under your feet._

The red rushing to her cheeks, her body's natural warning sign, was what drew up Isabella's defenses. She was embarrassed. The ape made her fall...in front of Edward. And she could NOT look bad in front of Edward. She couldn't be anything but perfect. He couldn't see her in an other light. She wouldn't allow it. It would not be tolerated. Weakness would not be tolerated. It was safer for Edward to think that the red in her cheeks was from anger...not from infatuation.

Several days later, as Edward arranged the sheet music that he no longer needed, Isabella arrived with a group of male and female dancers following behind her. Edward's heart dropped when he recognized the owner of the company also standing by her side. He knew something was up when the gentleman crossed the floor and approached him.

"Miss Swan has been commissioned to give private lessons to several students from the nearby university who wished to expand their horizons towards the arts. The selection process was quite extensive and it is an honor for those chosen to be in her presence. Your services won't be required for these sessions. We will ring you when and if you are needed again. You are free to go."

Isabella was skilled in several types of dance though she rarely practiced or performed anything but ballet - her first love. Known throughout the region, her services were sought after yet rarely given since the majority of her time was spent training and performing ballet. On occasion, however, she would take the time out of her schedule to do a favor for the university, per Demetri's orders of course.

Edward tried to hide his hands that were shaking with disappointment. "Oh. ...Right. ...I understand. I'll be, uh...going then." He rose from the bench to gather his things, his tattered pea coat and worn out rucksack, when Isabella rushed over and took the studio owner by the elbow.

"What are you doing?" she muttered, not wanting Edward to hear.

"I'm informing the pianist he's not needed."

"And why are you doing that without consulting me first?"

"Well, uhm, the, uh, university provides their own accompanist and I..."

"_He_ is my accompanist!" She knew she was raising her voice but she didn't care. They couldn't take him from her.

"Yes, but this is different music and..."

"He can play whatever music you put in front of him and HE is who plays for me. Do you understand?" Isabella's eyes were wide and glassy with anger and there was stormy contempt behind them as she increased her grip on the owners arm.

"Y-Yes...of course. I'm uh..."

"Excellent." She released the man's elbow and returned to the center of the floor. She addressed the room curtly, without introducing herself or asking for their names.

"Today we will be learning the waltz. My dear, if you will join me please." She extended her hand to a male student who glided to her side.

"Good," she smiled at him and then looked over her shoulder at Edward to make sure he was still there.

"Let's begin."

**

"Fuck! I don't know how to fix this, Emmett. And I think I just fucking cut my hand open." Edward ran into the kitchen and shoved his hand under the faucet, cursing again at the sight of the bright red blood circling down the drain. The pain throbbed and pulsed through his lacerated finger and he felt dizzy.

He and Emmett had been up for hours trying to fix the piece of shit radiator that had broken down for the third time in four days. The pipes were frozen again and Edward had sliced his finger on a shard of ice as he lifted the grate off the floor.

"We've been at this all day, Em, and I have to get to work."

"Oh yeah? How are you going to go to work like that?" Rosalie asked, taking a dishtowel and wrapping it around Edward's hand. Edward winced as she applied pressure, but it was less from the pain and more from Rosalie's question. What the fuck _was_ he going to do?

He was going to be late is what he was going to do. Edward had taken several shots of vodka, from the bottle used only for special occasions, to numb the pain before he left for work and it had him walking in slow motion. Isabella was already there, talking to Anna at the reception desk, when Edward came through the door. They noticed that he looked paler than usual and Isabella tried to ignore the jealousy she felt when she saw the enamored way Anna gazed at him. His hand was wrapped in a cloth bandage around his thumb and index finger and tied around his wrist and he was favoring it with his other hand as if to hide it from view. But Nicolai had already seen it and was following Edward into the studio, talking loudly for everyone to hear.

"What have you done?! Street brawl? A drunken bar fight? ...He's broken his hand! Do you see this?! I should have known this would happen! With opening night around the corner! What now? What do we do now?"

"It's _not_," Edward realized he was raising his voice, something he didn't do in Isabella's presence, and it was echoing around the room. He lowered it. "It's not broken."

"What's happened?" Isabella asked Nicolai, looking down at Edward's hand.

"He's mutilated his hand..."

"I have not. It's fine."

"Let me see it. You don't bandage something that's fine. Do you Isabella? Was your knee fine last year when you fell and it had to be bandaged for three weeks?"

Isabella smarted at the comment and looked away. She didn't want Edward to hear about her making mistakes. Especially when the only reason she fell was because the lighting was so poor in that shitty theater in Berlin and she was working on an advanced piece for the very first time and misjudged the edge of the stage. She wanted so badly to say that, to stick up for herself so Edward would know that it wasn't her fault, but she said nothing.

"It's fine," Edward demanded. He snatched his hand back and hurried over to the piano. Nicolai shrugged and waved Isabella over to the barre.

"He says it's fine, let's see if it's fine. Isabella, from the top."

**

The first day of spring had arrived, and Isabella, who was usually covered up like a fragile racehorse, stopped halfway through the practice and walked over to her bag. Edward paused and looked up when he saw the movement out of the corner of his eye and his gaze found Isabella just in time to see her strip her shirt over her head revealing a tight white leotard underneath. Her back was to him and when the shirt came up to her shoulder blades, Edward felt the familiar hardening twinge in his trousers that he'd been suppressing for months. She looked to him as if nothing had happened and nodded that she was ready again. And Edward, for the first time since he'd started the job, fumbled a bit at the beginning. Isabella smirked to herself and pretended she didn't notice. Edward tried to make it through the rest of the piece but all he could think about were the lean muscles in her back, the smooth, perfect skin that stretched along the vertebrae that ran up her spine and her tights that were tight in all the right places.

"How was my graceful angel today?" Demetri asked, barging in and killing the moment. "Will she be ready for the theater next week? We have sold out every seat in the house."

**

Rehearsals increased in frequency and duration as opening night drew near. Isabella practiced for hours every single day and every single day Edward was right there with her. He was there when she arrived, polishing the piano or straightening the music books or doing finger warm ups of his own and Isabella would walk in and set her bag down quietly so she didn't disturb his playing. But Edward could sense when she entered the room and he would inevitably look up, nodding hello with a little smile. The rigorous routines had caused Isabella to begin every practice by taping up her raw, battered toes, and Edward watched her wince and dab at the caked blood. Even though practice lasted for hours on end, Edward always knew when to stop for water and food. They brought bag lunches and would eat in silence, sitting on the dance room floor against the wall with their little sandwiches wrapped in brown paper. It wasn't a weird or awkward silence, it was content. Each of them nursing their own set of nervous butterflies. And after lunch Edward would return to his bench and Isabella would go to the mirror, sighing with satisfaction. Knowing that meant she was ready, Edward picked up exactly where they had left off twenty minutes earlier.

There were several times that Isabella practiced without her instructor. Edward would play as though he were invisible, hunched over the keys, trying not to look at her. But Isabella felt him there. The heat on her back meant he was looking, and she would bend all the way over, touching her forehead to her knees and spreading her legs in a stretch that Edward thought may or may not be an actual technical stretch. He wouldn't be able to hold out for long, his hands would start to shake and he'd always give in and look. And Isabella would peek from around her thigh, her face upside down and the ends of her hair brushing the floor and she'd smirk before snapping upright again and spinning back across the room, lost in herself and the moves of her own body. Sometimes she would forget there was anyone else in the room with her and she'd close her eyes and move so gracefully to the notes, getting swept up and lost inside the music while Edward got lost inside Isabella.

**

It was the day before the big night, the last practice before the show. Edward didn't miss a note and Isabella didn't miss a beat. She was perfect, she hit every step, and Edward felt like they were dancing together. He knew all her moves by heart. He'd watched her for weeks and weeks and hours and hours and when practice was finally over, it was late into the night.

It was just the two of them in the studio. Edward was closing up his books and folding the sheet music he didn't even need and Isabella was on the other side of the room packing up her bags. Edward wasn't sure if he'd ever see her again. He wasn't going to be her pianist for the run of the show and he didn't think she'd give a shit if it was the last time they worked together. Yet he wondered why it was taking her so long to pack her slippers and workout clothes, something she'd done her whole life, something that took her a matter of seconds to do before she bolted out the door. Isabella was usually the first one out of the room when rehearsal was over, which Edward rather liked because being in the same room with her, alone with no one else to buffer the sounds of their breathing, the sound of Isabella shuffling her things inside her ballet bag, drove Edward mad.

But how much longer was he supposed to stall before it became obvious that that was what he was doing? He would eventually have to stand up from the piano, walk across the shiny wooden floor to the door and walk past Isabella in order to leave. He did have to go home. Rosalie was cooking dinner and would start to worry if it got much later. So Edward pushed the bench out from under him and stood on new legs. Isabella didn't look up. She was still focused on whatever was going on in her bag. Edward made his way to the door. Just a few more steps, those last few would be the worst because they'd take him right into the air Isabella inhabited. Edward felt like crying as he got closer but he was almost there and Isabella still hadn't lifted her head.

"Pardon me," Edward stuttermumbled, his eyes focused on the door at the end of the hallway, the one that lead to the street and to safety.

"You're coming tomorrow." Isabella's low voice sent a shiver of fear and fire through Edward's body. But was it a question or a statement? Edward didn't know.

"..."

"_Tomorrow_." Isabella turned a perfect half-turn to come face to face with Edward and, with a raised eyebrow, repeated, "You're coming."

"_Oh. __Right._ Yes I'm...ummwellno. y'see I, uh, I don't have a ticket." Or any money to get one. Isabella could obviously read his mind because she reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope, held it up like a communion wafer and slid it into the groove of Edward's armpit. Another raised eyebrow. "Well, there's no problem now, is there?" She smiled from the side of her mouth and slung her heavy bag over her shoulder, grabbed her jacket, and pushed past him, thanking the lord that her heart was inside her chest so Edward couldn't see it pounding.

It had gone on for months, the tension between them. And the entire time Edward was sure Isabella was completely indifferent to his existence, in fact he was _sure_ she thought he was nothing more than a poor nuisance. The day Edward got the job, Isabella had rolled her eyes and blanched, "_Another_ fucking pianist?" To which Nicolai reminded her,

"Well if they didn't all quit after a day of working with you, Isabella, we wouldn't have to keep replacing them."

The night after she first met Edward...she still didn't know his last name...she had raced out of rehearsal without a word; her head swimming, her breath impossible to find. She ducked into the car that was waiting for her with Demetri inside and he immediately asked her if she was alright. He wanted to know how her first rehearsal had been, was she happy, were the instructors kind, did he need to get involved or "take care" of anything for her, to which she stared out the window and politely replied, "I'm fine."

It was the first of many lies she would tell revolving around the beautiful boy called Edward.

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	5. Stay around long enough

Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight

Please forgive typos, I haven't beta'd this. I'm just posting as it comes to me :)

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**If you stay around long enough someone is bound to notice you.**

The night before the opening performance of _Raymonda _at the Bolshoi Theater was a restless night filled with broken dreams and scattered images. Edward tossed and turned on his thin pallet, groaning in uncomfortable frustration and pulling the quilted blanket up to his chin. The embers from the fire he slept in front of had all but burned out, yet she was still all around him, plaguing his thoughts with endless questions. Was she nervous? Was she sleeping? More importantly, was she sleeping _alone_? Was she having sex? Was she enjoying it? Edward instantly hardened at the thought of what it would feel like to have sex with Isabella. Her limber body wrapped and contorted around his own, her low moans, her hands pulling at his hair in ecstasy. He wondered how much experience she had with men. She seemed so young, he guessed eighteen at the most. His hand found his way into his undershorts and he closed his eyes as he closed his hand around his shaft, imagining it was her hand stroking him, the images of her nimble body dancing and swaying before him, her angelic graceful movements hypnotizing him. She made it look effortless. He came soundlessly into his palm, the warm liquid cooling on his inner thighs and he finally drifted off.

**

Edward rummaged through the meager pile of clothing he kept in a neat pile under his brother's dresser...two pairs of trousers, one gray, one black, three long sleeve button-down shirts, several pairs of socks, a wool blazer Rosalie found at a second hand store...he sighed and tossed everything back where he'd found it. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Nothing was good enough. Did he really think he owned anything remotely suitable to wear to Theater Square? This was going to be a disaster.

"Here, little bro," Emmett said, holding out his only suit. The last time Emmett had worn it was when he and Rosalie were married.

He helped Edward slip the jacket on and straightened his narrow black tie. Even though it was a little big, Edward looked dapper and put together and Emmett smacked him on the shoulder approvingly. Edward shined his only pair of black shoes and Rosalie ran her fingers through his hair with a bit of her pomade to give it style. She took a step back, looked at him, and smiled.

"There now. ...You look very beautiful, Edward Anthony. Very handsome, indeed. I'd be proud to sit next to you at the theater. ...I'd sit next to you anywhere." She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. When she pulled away there were tears in her eyes.

"Make sure you tell me all about it when you get home, ok?" she choked out.

"Of course I will, Rosalie. ...And one day you will see it for yourself. I promise you that."

**

Edward's stomach was queasy the entire walk to the theater that evening. He turned and started walking back home a dozen times. He knew Isabella would be perfect and look perfect, dance perfect, perfect body, perfect face, perfect Isabella could do no wrong in Edward's eyes. ...Partly because he knew so very little about her. Anytime he'd heard her name uttered around the studio it was always in hushed tones so he couldn't make out what was being said. He knew Isabella had a boyfriend that was considerably older than she and that wielded some sort of absolute control over her. He had come to that conclusion one night when Isabella was running late after rehearsal. Her feet were swollen and she was taking extra care wrapping her toes when Demetri barged in to collect her. He didn't seem happy that he had been kept waiting and Isabella left with him in a hurry. From that day forward Edward rolled his eyes whenever he heard Demetri's name mentioned, which was usually in the same sentence with the words 'power' and 'wealth'.

Edward was nervous for _himself_ and what seeing Isabella on stage would do to _him_. Edward had never in his life been to a playhouse this opulent. He immediately felt self-conscious and inferior, under-dressed and poor. He was convinced that his ticket would be found invalid or that he'd be deemed not up to standard or code. They'd see through his shoes to the holes in his socks that he hadn't had time to mend, they'd notice that there was a button missing on his pea coat that he swore was there yesterday. The possibilities of this all falling through were innumerable.

Even after they took his ticket and waved him along with the rest of society's crusty upper echelon, even after the usher had taken him to his seat, Edward was still convinced that they would stop any second and seat him in Row Z, Section 'Obscured by Pole'. But the usher kept walking and Edward followed, closer and closer towards the orchestra and up a flight of stairs to a box overhanging the stage. He was sat in the box by himself. Across the length of the stage in the box directly opposite his was Isabella's boyfriend with members of the newspaper and publishing community. Edward recognized Demetri immediately and watched while he grabbed the attention of another usher and pointed across to the box where Edward was sitting. Edward's stomach dropped. _T__hat's it then, _he thought_. I'm caught. Ah well, I hear prison is nice this time of year. _

_**  
_

Deep in the annals of the magnificent theater, Isabella had ten minutes until the seamstress arrived to sew her into her costume. As soon as her dressing room door clicked shut she sighed and flopped down on the ornate silk sheathed sofa and curled into a ball in the corner. She moved to rest her head on an elaborate velvet pillow with gold stitching, then thought twice about it and knocked it to the floor.

She stood and ran through her stretches for the third time, growling in frustration. Her nerves were getting the best of her. She was on edge and that was dangerous. It could lead to distraction which could lead to mistakes. And mistakes were not an option. So she did what she always did when it came time to fight off the demons that crept up the back her neck.

She remembered back to when she was eight years old. Sitting on the sidewalk outside her tenement building in New York City, she taped up her feet the way she saw the dancers in the studio down the street do it. She played her little hand along a rusted pipe that ran down the cracked wall behind her apartment and copied the stretches and movements she learned from standing outside the window with her face pressed against the glass. Even after her father stopped coming home and her mother started crying all the time, she found that she could be happy as long as she was dancing. ...But ever since she was brought to Moscow, it seemed less about the dancing and more about how much people would pay to see her or what famous artist they could get to paint the sets or what diplomat or head of state was in the audience. She knew that most people in the audience were not there because they loved the art of the ballet, but because it was socially and politically important to be seen. She knew they were out there now in gowns and tuxedos bought for this performance alone that would never be worn again, mingling with fake tittering laughter behind silken gloves and top hats.

And then there was Demetri. Demetri loved the arts. He had been a dancer himself for years in St. Petersburg. A very passionate one at that and he'd helped Isabella so very much in achieving all she had achieved in her short lifespan. Her success meant money and a place to stay and fame and something that felt like love but that also felt like something hollow and cheap, unfaithful warmth. The kind of heat that offered comfort to her body and mind but not to her heart and soul and something that Isabella knew would leave her instantly if she were to stop bringing in the money that her talent brought in.

She cringed on the sofa at the thought and pulled her knees further into her chest. She hated thinking ill of Demetri. It made her feel ungrateful and mean. Demetri was powerful and controlling but he was also kind and loving towards his красивейше (beautiful) Isabella. He showered her with anything and everything she could ever want and told her he loved her every day. He meant it, for what it was worth, he loved his meal ticket. And she said it back, because she believed it to be true. He did miraculous things to her body, things she was too inexperienced to have ever felt before. Things that took her breath away and that made her lose control of her senses. Demetri was the only person she'd ever been with sexually or otherwise and she assumed that the way he did it was the right and only way it could be done. But when it was over and she'd lay restless in his arms, she wasn't content to be still and listen to her lover breathe. Demetri called her squirming "immaturity" and maybe he was right. So Isabella tried to reign everything in that he deemed childish. She didn't giggle or run or jump in his presence. She didn't play. She didn't stop to pet animals or watch the clowns in the streets, because that would be immature and weak and someone that was nineteen years old and a professional artist did not do such things.

There was a light tapping on the dressing room door and Isabella's interest peaked. If it were Demetri he would have simply slung the door open. She rose and opened it a crack and peered out. It was one of her dancers. A beautiful but timid girl she had chosen herself as one of Raymonda's close friends.

"Miss Isabella? I'm so sorry to bother you."

Isabella smiled at the fierce blush creeping over the young girl's face. "It's alright, Nadia. Come in."

Nadia's voice dropped to a whisper. "I thought you should know, miss, that Demetri ordered the boy removed from the theater. ...The one you gave your guest ticket to? The usher is on his way to him now-"

Isabella almost knocked her down as she pushed through the doorway and fled down the hall. _No. Not Edward. They can't touch him. Anyone but him. _ She whipped around the corner and caught the usher by the arm as he was about to ascend the staircase to the upper tier.

"Where are you going?" she demanded. "Do you have orders to remove someone?"

"Y-Yes Miss Isabella. It seems someone from the street has-"

"He's not from the _street_, you ass. Do you hear me? He's my _gues_t. And I will not go on if he is not exactly where he is sitting now when the curtain rises."

"But Master Demetri said-"

"Go back and tell Master Demetri that the gentleman in the box is not to be bothered in any way. I'll deal with whatever anger it brings after the show. ...Promise me."

"Yes, ma'am. I promise."

Isabella watched him walk away hesitantly and she blew out the air she'd been holding in to keep her voice steady and commanding and important. She went to return to her dressing room, but instead she took a few steps forward towards the hidden edge of the stage. She tilted her eyes until she could see Demetri's box.

She watched the usher approach Demetri's side and lean in to speak her words to him. Demetri's face changed, bottled rage crept into the lines around his mouth and he gave a curt nod, waving the usher away. Without warning, his eyes found Isabella's and he frowned, staring at her like a bug he had every intention of squashing as soon as he found a shoe.

"Is everything alright, miss?" The girl was at Isabella's side again and Isabella turned to her and smiled.

"Everything is perfect for now." Every molecule inside her begged to look up at the boxes on the opposite side of the theater. She knew if she were to take a few steps forward and peek around the edge of the curtain that she would see him sitting there, waiting for her.

"We actually have someone in the audience tonight who cares about what we're doing and not just about what party they will be attending afterwards."

"Who is it?" Nadia asked.

_He came. Edward came._

"My pianist," she answered without faltering. Yet just saying those words to describe Edward, words that would never due justice to who he was and who he was to her, made her nerves razor sharp and they cut through the inside of her stomach lining. It wasn't the packed seats or the hundreds of people waiting for her to perform perfectly for them. She knew she could do it with her eyes closed and she could care less what they thought about her. But the fact that _Edward_ was there made her knees quake. For he was the one and only person in the audience who's opinion actually mattered.

Meanwhile, Edward sat patiently in his box waiting for someone to drag him away. He figured he had a few minutes before security found their way up the staircase and launched him into the street where he belonged, so he decided to make the most of the few moments he had left to drink in his surroundings. He memorized every glorious detail so he could recount it for Rosalie. He sat up straighter and pretended that he belonged there, that he was dressed like everyone around him, that he was someone of importance, of wealth and of worth. Demetri's seething stare continued to burn a hole through his head but other than that Edward seemed to go unnoticed. The crowd was too preoccupied with each other to give him the pompous looks he was used to receiving from the upper class. So he waited. And waited. He leafed through the program he had been given at the door – there were words about Isabella,_ her impeccable form and charismatic personality will make this stellar production worth watching, _and Edward's chest swelled with pride at the truth in that statement. Isabella had worked incredibly hard for this moment, months of preparation and diligence, endless hours of repetition_. The ballerina's genius has built up the heroine's character; her constantly inspired step combinations, danced by a ballerina who understands the style and tradition, makes you see Raymonda as a gracious young aristocrat, discovering her charms, realizing her capabilities, discovering love---and yes, being fascinated by the exotic and dangerous. Certainly, there is a hint of her sexual awakening as well---but she chooses to remain true to herself and her upbringing. _

Art imitating life, perhaps?

Through the cavernous hall filled with echoes, Edward was sure he heard an unmistakable voice from below. She could be whispering a name in a screaming crowd and Edward would know it was her. _"...someone in the audience tonight..."_ He reeled at the tender tone in her voice. He was so used to hearing it strict and short and aloof. And Edward wanted to look so badly. All he'd have to do would be to lean over the edge of the box and peek around the edge of the curtain to see her standing below. Instead he sat back knowing that he was safe...safe because of Isabella. And by the look on Demetri's face, he also knew that he'd gotten her into trouble.

In what seemed like an hour but was surely just moments, the lights dimmed and everyone took their seats. The curtains opened to reveal the sumptuous great hall of the Chateau de Doris, where courtiers gathered to bid farewell to the knights leaving for a Crusade. Edward knew the part by heart. The knight, De Brienne, sweeps Raymonda off her feet and carries her tenderly in his arms with her head resting in his shoulder. It would be the first of many instances where it becomes clear to the audience that Raymonda and De Brienne are deeply in love. It was a move Isabella and Edward had practiced endlessly for days and now Edward would be forced to swallow back his jealousy as he watched Isabella perform it in the arms of another. He could feel her in his arms, her sweet strawberry scent in his nose, her warm hair tickling his chin. And now she took Edward's breath away in a dazzling green-beaded white tutu, a jeweled bodice and sparkling tiara; he had never seen her look more beautiful.

For the second act she wore a pink- beribonned lavender tutu, with the other dancers in coordinating colors. The safety of his private box allowed Edward permission to oogle at Isabella without interruption; he admired the birdlike ease of her movements and the way each costume hugged her tight body as her lean muscles rippled underneath.

_Eyes sparkling with joyous confidence, she wove magic with her wonderful articulation of shoulder, arm, head and hand movements, coordinated with her lightning quick pointe work. She brought the house to a fever pitch of excitement at the end of the ballet._

And just like that, it was over in an instant. The audience leapt to their feet in rabid applause, throwing flowers on the stage and Isabella smiled brilliantly, taking deep bows. She pulled a flower from the stage and twirled it under her nose as she exited. Edward remained frozen in the box with his chin propped on the ledge staring at the empty stage as the crowd shuffled out. He watched Demetri and his friends leave with one last snarl in his direction and before he knew it he was the only one left behind in the large theater save for the ushers walking the aisles.

As he moved to get up, his ass and feet tingling with pins and needles, he noticed one of the ballerinas return to the stage with another girl in tow. One had her hand at her earlobe and Edward heard her tell to the other, "...it was my grandmother's. If I don't find it my father will kill me. A long slow painful death it'll be too." They dropped to their hands and knees, feeling around on stage as another girl came up behind them. …It was Isabella. She had already changed into a full-tiered ankle-length skirt with a tightly cinched jacket and delicate black fedora positioned slightly cockeyed on her head. She had the deep purple flower she picked up from the stage tucked behind her ear. The girls giggled at something she said and she grinned and curtsied and they giggled more. It had never occurred to Edward that Isabella was capable of fucking around, of making people laugh, or of even _wanting_ to do those things. She was always so serious at the studio. A sad seriousness. And to see her laughing and joking with a flower tucked ridiculously behind her ear on her hands and knees helping to look for a dropped earring that wasn't hers, Edward's heart jolted in his chest. She was capable of joy. Did that mean she was also capable of love? He couldn't breathe. And he hadn't even considered the fact that it was past the time for him to leave - that he shouldn't have been there in the first place - until he heard one of the girls call out.

"Isabella? Isn't that your friend? From the studio?"

_Her friend_?

Edward grabbed his coat from the floor and turned. He heard Isabella's voice calling from below.

"Edward? Wait!"

He dashed down the stairs and turned the corner where he was faced with a hallway with multiple exits. His eyes darted down each one, deciding which one to choose; his ears were deaf with the pounding of his heart, and then he felt fingers close around his wrist. He pulled his hand away and turned. He must have looked like a frightened rabbit because Isabella took a few steps back and tucked her hands into her pockets.

"I didn't mean to startle you." Her eyes peered at Edward from under the brim of her fedora and her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. "…You came."

"Of course I came," he whispered. It was the first time they'd spoken since the night she gave him the ticket. "Thank you for the ticket. It was very generous of you."

"It was nothing for me," she shrugged, attempting to still her ragged breathing. Edward looked absolutely otherwordly to her. Sure, he was poor, he was wearing a suit that was two sizes too big for him, his hands were grimy, his fingernails had dirt built in underneath them, but his eyes held more brilliance than all of the jewels in her safe, his face was more startlingly exotic than the finest sculpture from Michelangelo, his voice held more romance than all of Shakespeare's sonnets, and his hands held the keys to her heart within each finger. How she wished she had the courage to tell him the words that lingered on the tip of her tongue...a tongue that begged her nightly for the chance to explore the inner depths of Edward's perfect mouth.

Instead, she let her cowardice rule her once again and she spoke as the woman she was told to be.

"It was a guest ticket. It was nothing. They usually go to waste."

Edward shrugged modestly. "I dare say there were quite a few people who thought it went to waste tonight as well."

"Well _I_ say you were an asset tonight and what _I_ say goes around here, isn't that right?"

Edward grinned slyly out of the corner of his plump mouth and began swaying in place with his hands in his jacket pocket. "Yes. I suppose it is."

It was then that Edward noticed the purple flower still tucked behind her ear. Isabella smiled and touched at it gingerly. Edward's nerves had eased but his heart rate was fluttering with excitement. They stood in silence smiling at each other before Edward broke the moment, pulling at his hair and making a few flittering gestures with his long fingers.

"I better get going," he announced abruptly. It hurt less for him to end it than to wait for her to leave him.

She nodded and a cloud of sadness washed over her. "I understand. Safe travels home, Edward. ...Goodnight."

She took the flower from behind her ear and reached forward, pausing for a second to make sure Edward wasn't going to dash, asking permission with her eyes before she placed the flower behind his ear, her fingers brushing past the bronze hair around the ridge, and then she giggled as she took those few steps back again to a safe distance away from him. Edward chuckled and a booming voice came from the end of the hallway. "_Isabella!_ We're waiting. And we have _things_ to discuss."

Isabella closed her eyes briefly, the smile leaving her face and Edward opened his mouth to apologize. He knew the wrath she was about to face had everything to do with him. It was his fault. But Isabella shook her head, stopping his words and whispering "Goodnight," again before turning and heading back to the dressing rooms.

From a small hidden nook safely isolated on the street opposite the theater, Edward watched the excitement of the crowd escalate to a fever pitch as the front doors opened and the dancers emerged. Dozens of them, mostly extras and background players, passed through the throng of fans and press unnoticed. The supporting cast exited next and stopped to sign autographs and smile as the flashbulbs caught them in their high beams. They ducked into vehicles and were whisked off to underground establishments that awaited their arrival. Isabella, the star, was the last one out and the shrieks hit fever pitch while flashbulbs exploded like fireworks in the sky. She seemed unaffected, quickly scribbling a few autographs and smiling from under the brim of her hat, moving quickly down the walkway towards the car. Edward resigned himself to the fact that his few moments inside with Isabella Swan were all that had been allotted to him by a higher power, and that was alright with him. He was lucky to have received anything at all. He sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets, receding into the shadow of the alley.

He had so much to tell Rosalie when he got home. She'd put the kettle on and butter a few pieces of bread and they'd sit around the kitchen table and talk for hours. He'd tell her all about Isabella, how ravishing she looked, how gracefully she danced, and Rosalie's eyes would widen with the description of it all.

Ducking around the corner, he began the long walk home when he heard what sounded like his name being called out in echo.

"Edward! Wait!!" It was Isabella and Edward turned to see her taking off in a brisk walk down the alley towards him. Edward knew his eyes were the size of saucers as he watched her approach in her heels that were sure to get caught in the cobblestones. He couldn't believe she had come after him twice in one night after months of never throwing even the slightest glance his way.

"I," Isabella stammered. She was out of breath and knew she didn't have much time. "I saw you walking this way and I…I wanted to tell you one more time how pleased I am that you came. _Edward_. ...Out of all these people," Isabella gestured behind her towards the throbbing mass of onlookers. "I can count on one hand how many actually listened to the music...the music you know how to play by heart. ...Every note. It lives in you. I can see that it does. I doubt there was anyone else in the theater tonight other than you and I who truly appreciate dance for what it IS...on a basic level, a level that doesn't contain expensive frocks or champagne after parties, but on a level that understands it as an art form that only the sweat of a 14-hour day filled with repetition until perfection in a cold charmless studio can produce. _That's_ where the satisfaction is. It's not about dancing around for _them_. It's for _me_. And tonight, Edward, it was for you too."

Edward stood frozen, stunned by her honesty.

"That means more to me than you will ever know. Thank you for your kind words. And you...you were wonderful out there tonight. You were everything I knew you would be. And the show, the show was great, I mean, and you too." He cursed his inability to get through one sentence in her presence without stumbling.

"You'll come tomorrow then?"

Of course he would.

**

The next night Edward snuck in a side door and climbed the stairs with his head down so he wouldn't be questioned. He nicked a standing spothalfway behind a pillar in the corner of the theater and stooped down on the floor with his nose to the railing just as the lights came down. He didn't move a muscle during Isabella's entire performance and when the curtain fell his feet were asleep, his back was aching and his knuckles were white from gripping the railing for so long. He stayed in that spot for several minutes more, listening to the people in their swishes and clinks of riches and he played back through Isabella's performance until he was breathless. She was so fucking beautiful.

When the theater was empty he walked down the stairs in a daze. He passed through a side door of the lobby and slipped out onto the sidewalk. He was about to turn for home when he heard Isabella's voice. She was standing in front of the theater surrounded by fans in a short skirt and long black coat. It was the first time Edward had seen her in "street" clothes so revealing. Edward thought of going over to congratulate her, but he remembered who he was in relation to who she was and he stood watching her for several seconds before turning again for home.

"Edward!" There were quick footsteps approaching and when he turned, Isabella was right there smiling in his face with a mild look of confusion.

When Isabella smiled, Edward fucking melted. There was no one else on earth right then but he and Isabella standing looking at him like he was someone that mattered; like he was more than just some peon who played the piano at her dance studio.

"Where were you tonight?" she asked, red faced.

"In the rafters," Edward answered, admiring the soft curls cascading over her shoulders.

"Oh," she said, looking at her shoes. "The pianist was off in the second movement. I needed you up there with me. I can't trust anyone with my music but you, it seems."

She was looking directly into Edward's eyes, boring a hole through his mind, invading his private thoughts. She flicked her gaze away for a split second so she could eye his body and Edward blushed when he caught her doing it with a Cheshire cat smile.

"Thank you, Miss Swan. That means the world to me."

"Please. Call me Isabella."

"Ok then. _Isabella_. ...Isabella, with all due respect, I don't think I'm the sort you put on a stage."

"And why not?"

Edward heard the crowd snickering behind her. He heard the sneers in their voices. _Who's that? Why is Isabella Swan talking to him? He must be a charity case_.

He tugged nervously at his jacket as Isabella watched him, devastated at the pain their class separation forced upon them. She was uncontrollably and unequivocally attracted to the man who stood before her. If she ever thought she knew love before he came into her life, she was wrong.

"There's a masquerade ball...tomorrow night...here's the address," Isabella shoved a crumpled piece of paper into Edward's hand and folded Edward's fingers over it. "It's the penthouse...where I live. I'd love it if," Isabella looked nervously over her shoulder at the people waiting for her. There was no time. "You should come. If you aren't busy, that is." Their eyes meet briefly and the world fell away.

Then as quickly as she was there she was gone.

But before she reached the long black car and the never-ending entourage of assistants, stylists and consultants...she looked back at Edward and yelled with her hands at the sides of her mouth...

"Tell me you'll come! ...Say it!! Say _I'll come_!!"

Edward looked around one final time to make sure it was _he_ who Isabella was addressing and with a huge toothy laughing smile spread across his face he yelled back at her...

"Yes!! ...I'll come!!"

**

"Did you explain to him what we talked about, Isabella?" Demetri asked sweetly but with an air of daring control under his breath as the car door slammed shut behind her.

"Yes. I explained it to him." Isabella answered, leaning over and kissing Demetri on the cheek as the car pulled off.

* * *


	6. I Know God is a Man

Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight

* * *

**I Know God is a Man**

"So? What do you think?"

Edward spun around twice in front of his friends, who were perched like ravens on the tattered sofa in the artist common house. He was dressed to the nines with the contents of a parcel that had been secretly delivered to his brother's house earlier that morning. A smart black suit with a blood-red silk waist coat underneath fitting to perfection. All beautiful and surely worth more than the combined income of the population of the entire house. Finishing off the look was a black mask made of glass, simple and clean, that shined when it shouldn't be possible. Without a single light it found something to reflect off of its perfect surface. It ended just under Edward's nose leaving his chin exposed, with stubble starting to form from the shave the night before, his mouth quirked into a devilish smile.

"Edward," his name was whispered in an astonished breath from Alice. "You look incredible."

"It really is quite stunning." Jasper tapped a finger on his chin. "You look like a fucking count or something."

"Yeah it looks pretty fucking sweet," Jake agreed. "But is it comfortable? It seems like your face is gonna sweat."

"Who cares if his face _falls off_ at the end of the night?" Alice stood and walked over to him, touching the mask in wonder where the edge brushes his cheek. "You'll be the most beautiful boy in the world for a few hours. That seems worth it to me."

Edward leaned forward and kissed her cheek and she giggled but it didn't drown out the huff of annoyance coming from the corner of the room. ...Alex hadn't spoken to Edward all day. When Edward arrived, at the white house where he once lived with these cast of characters, Alex had a beautiful smile waiting for him; a smile that quickly dropped as soon as Edward laid out the contents of the package and everyone awed and touched with gentle fingers as Edward read the address and told them where he would be going that night. After that Alex made sure he wasn't in the same room as Edward for the rest of the day. He had errands that didn't need to be run, cleaning that didn't need doing, anything to keep from seeing Edward.

And now, as Edward watched him storm from the room, he thought about not following like everyone expected him to. He looked at all of their faces staring back at him as if to say, _Well? Aren't you going to go after him like you always do?_ So he followed. But the second he walked into the kitchen and saw Alex leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed _waiting_ for him, he almost wished he hadn't. One thing that had always gotten under Edward's skin was Alex's cockiness. And Alex knew it. The smirk and tilt to his head told Edward that Alex knew he would come running.

"Look, if you want to talk to me, just ask. You don't have to make a dramatic scene."

"Ha! Says the man dressed like a vampire."

Edward carefully slipped the mask from his face and placed it on the table like it contained the secrets of heaven and hell and everything in between. For all he knew, it did.

"You haven't spoken to me all day. You're stomping around here like a forgotten girl and after that episode in the living room just now I'm willing to bet that you have a problem with me. And you didn't lure me in here to stand and stare so are you gonna let me have it or what?"

Alex took his lower lip into his mouth and softened his eyes, because Edward was looking at him like a kicked puppy and it broke down some of the worry and anger that had been helping him compose his speech all day. ...He couldn't _not_ say it. He'd never been one to hold back his opinion especially when it came to Edward.

"Alright fine. …I think it's a bad idea. ...A _very _bad idea."

"Is that all? You don't think I picked that up already?"

"Why are you treating this so lightly? Do you remember what happens when people like us are picked up in that part of town?"

"Of course but-"

"And what doya think is going to happen to ya if you're caught in that house? You think they'll politely ask you to leave? Huh, Edward? Doya think they'll give you a ride home? That they'll laugh about it and offer you another drink?"

"Alex, I won't be caught."

"Right. So what's she like then? Is she worth risking your life over?"

"W-what?"

His heart kicked up and his palms started to sweat and he suddenly hated that Alex could read him so well.

"Who invited you? What's her name? What's she like?"

"It's just someone I know. A dancer I play for, that's all."

"You've played for a lot of dancers Edward and not once have any of them invited you into the lion's den to a fucking dress-up party. What. is. she. like?""

"She's...she's nice."

"She's nice?" Alex used his arms to lift himself up to the edge of the counter and leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. "That's not what you told Alice. You said she was the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. And that you haven't been able to say a fucking sentence to her without turning into a blubbering idiot. A 'puddle on the floor'. Am I getting all this right? Cause maybe my hearing was a little off."

Edward's eyes widened and a flush crept up his neck that he swore would singe the very hair off his head. He told Alice those things in confidence. Not that he'd _said_ that but he thought...well he thought it was understood that she probably shouldn't go blabbing his crush to everyone in the fucking house. Especially Alex. Fuck. _Especially_ Alex.

"Why did she tell you that?"

"_Because I asked!!_ Because that's what friends do! They fucking share things with each other!"

"She's not-"

"Don't _tell_ me what she isn't. I know her without ever laying eyes on her. Just because she smiles at you doesn't mean she doesn't laugh behind your back when she speaks. This is all a _laugh_ for her, Edward. Let's drag the poor starving boy in and show him what he'll never have. She has no more interest in you than I have in a fucking dog. Maybe _less!_ You're not one of them. You never will be. And s_he'll_ never be one of _us_." Alex turned on his heel and strode out of the room throwing one final comment over his shoulder. "And you look fucking ridiculous."

**

There's a mirror covering an entire wall of Isabella and Demetri's bedroom. It measures fifteen feet wide and six feet tall and had to be lifted in by crane, a section of the wall completely taken out. It was the mirror that Demetri practiced in front of every day growing up as a boy and then on into his career. He bought it from a small studio in Moscow when he bought the penthouse in the height of his career and he had it ornately framed in the most expensive carved mahogany that money could buy. Most times now the only purpose it served was at night, or early in the morning before Isabella's practice began, when Isabella and Demetri watched themselves fuck for hours on the huge silk cloaked bed. Now though, only a few minutes before the party, Demetri stood in front of it as he arranged Isabella's jewels on her neck, picking out the most lavish pieces from her enormous selection. He'd been smiling at Isabella all night since she first emerged from her dressing room and Demetri stripped her dress over her head just to have to put it back on her all over again. He still couldn't seem to stop touching her, watching her, she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. And there was nothing like owning the most beautiful girl you've ever seen to bring out the fear and jealousy and absolute possessiveness you carry inside.

"Have I told you how absolutely perfect you were last night?"

Isabella ducked away from the cooing breath at her ear and gently shooed Demetri's hands away from the ties of her bodice.

"Your guests will be here any second, you know."

"_Our_ guests, sweetheart. But after last night I dare say they're _all _coming to see _you_."

"Hmmm."

"Are you excited about seeing Paris again, my love?"

"Of course. Very much so."

"So next week when we return from your well deserved vacation you'll start daily rehearsals again. And you spoke with the pianist?"

"Yes. I _told_ you I have."

She took the clipped edge from her voice with a warm smile and a quick kiss to Demetri's lips. Because she _did_ speak with Edward. Just not what about Demetri told her to speak with him about. She didn't tell Edward that the only way Demetri would agree to let him remain her pianist would be for her to never see him outside the studio. She also didn't tell him that she could never be seen socializing with him or with anyone of his class _ever_ lest her career tank into oblivion. She didn't mimic Demetri's sneer or tell Edward that he'd never be anything other than the ratty clothing on his back. Those were Demetri's words. In fact, she didn't even get around to telling him that she wanted him to stay on as her pianist full time because...well she could tell him that tonight, now couldn't she? No harm there. Isabella could consider it a business meeting if the guilt started creeping around in her stomach. But just the idea that someone her own age would be there tonight, that she didn't have to talk to about politics, was enough to make her giddy. She had a dream the night before that she and Edward were dressed like Indians and had dropped all of the tiny elegant tea cakes off the banisters and onto the heads of the guests below. When she told the maid, the only one in the house she trusted enough to tell any of her thoughts, she had muttered something about childhood repression and how she needed a dog and how she should have spent her younger years in parks and circuses rather than in a cold studio. She had fluffed the last pillow so hard that Isabella thought it would surely tear.

But there were _other_ things she didn't tell Edward. Like the fact that she had a silk scarf, one that she bought when on tour with Demetri the year before, that was the exact green of Edward's eyes and that lately, since Edward had walked into the studio that first day, the scarf had become one of her very favorite possessions. She also didn't tell Edward that she'd never danced as well as she did when she was dancing with him from his place tucked away behind the piano. And that in the hallway she had to remind herself every second that she had a boyfriend who loved her and that it wouldn't be right to lean in and kiss a perfect stranger that might not have any interest in kissing you back. Isabella started to think that maybe a good hard slap was what she needed.

The chiming deep doorbell sounded and Isabella opened her eyes and saw herself for just a second in the mirror before Demetri lowered a gleaming, white glass mask over her eyes and secured it in the back. The perfect, opposite twin to the one she had sent to Edward's house just that morning.

"Our guests are arriving, my angel. But I must confess, all I'll be thinking about tonight is the moment everyone leaves. When I have you all to myself again."

**

The grand front entrance of the penthouse was fashioned after the entranceway of the palace at Versailles. Nothing but the very best money could buy and the very best next thing after the original. Isabella stood at the top of the master staircase in the front hall, dressed in the gown that had been cut and sewn directly onto her body. She watched the guests arrive, the ladies gliding in without feet, their long elaborate gowns swishing over the hardwood floors that had been shined into mirrors, each one holding onto the arm of a tuxedoed gentlemen, every man and woman with a mask over their face, held to their eyes by pearl handles or fastened around their heads with silk ribbons.

Isabella felt Demetri take his inevitable position of possession at her side and looked through the ominous crystal chandelier to the floor below.

"Do you see all those people down there?" Demetri asked rhetorically, making a wide-spreading gesture with his arm. "How they look like ants? Notice how _they're_ down there and _we're_ up here. Ironic?? I think not. Even in their expensive frocks and jewels, they can't come up here to greet us. We have to descend to _their_ level. Always remember that you are better than them, Isabella. Haven't I always told you that?" Demetri lifted his black satin embroidered mask outlined in rubies and diamonds to give Isabella a wink before placing it back over his eyes and taking Isabella by the crook of the arm, leading her down the stairs slowly so everyone would see them descend. And they did. Heads turned, mouths dropped open, elbows jabbed sides, voices twittered and whispered, fingers pointed as each step was carefully watched and analyzed. And when they reached the bottom Demetri bowed graciously and then motioned to Isabella, who nodded to her left and then to her right in curt courtesy. The string quartet broke into tune and the wait staff began touring the floor with platters of delicacies. The doors to the ballroom opened and the garden patios were flooded with twinkling lights. It was a magical evening indeed.

"Well Demetri, this is _quite_ the do." An impossibly proper woman with an impossibly pointy nose strode towards them.

"Ah, my dear. So lovely of you to come. Isabella, meet Natasha Abbott. She is from New York as well."

The lady pulled her mask away from her painted face by the handle she was holding it with and extended her gaudy bejeweled and wrinkled hand for Isabella to hold. Isabella took it in her own and curtsied.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, madam."

"You were an angel last night, Isabella. Straight from heaven. I was moved to tears."

_Bullshit. And risk having your makeup run to reveal the true you underneath? Never._

"It brings me endless joy to perform for you, my lady." She tried to answer with an inflection of flattery and happiness in her voice but she couldn't make it come off as anything more than uninterested. _I'm going to be sick_. She looked over her shoulder for an escape route to the toilets.

"Ah, Constance," Demetri continued, pulling another feathered human to his side, adorned in lilac and white boas dripping in diamonds with a glittered patch over one eye. "Allow me to introduce you to my Isabella." Demetri bowed politely and twirled her in place, showing her off while she puffed on her ridiculously long cigarette held between two blood-red lips.

"Charmed I'm sure," Constance extended her gloved hand to Isabella and gave a raised, penciled-in eyebrow to Natasha Abbott.

"Will you excuse me please?" Isabella smiled weakly and took a few stutter steps backwards.

"Are you alright, Isabella?" Demetri followed after her and stopped her at the foot of the stairs. "Are you unwell? You were very abrupt just now."

"I'm...I'm sorry if I was rude, I feel lightheaded suddenly. It must be all the champagne on an empty stomach."

"Shall I call for a butler to assist you to your room?"

"No, that won't be necessary, my darling. I'll splash some water on my face and get some air. I'll be fine. Really, please don't worry about me. Go mingle with the guests. I insist." Isabella smiled and squeezed Demetri's arm. _Please get away from me_.

**

Edward knew that if he were to arrive at the front gate of Isabella's building in anything other than a Rolls Royce or stretch limo, he'd be run out of town on a rail. Therefore he did what he learned to do best when it came to mixing in with high society. Stand up tall, look straight ahead like you belong there, know exactly where you are going, walk quickly but not like you're trying to get away with something, and don't say a word. The mask and suit ensured he'd blend in, so he followed the other guests into the exclusive penthouse elevator and stood in the back while the attendant pressed P1. The doors closed and re-opened in another world.

"Sir?" the elderly elevator operator said politely to Edward, who was still standing in the same spot after everyone else had walked out.

"This is your floor, sir."

Edward cleared his throat and pulled at his waistcoat, giving himself a quick glance in the mirror before exiting. The sight of himself in the black mask made him anonymous for the time being but he still felt like he was heading into the lions den. Unlike Isabella, Edward was never very good at pretending to be someone he was not. _Deep breath, Cullen, you scared little girl. Act like you belong here_.

"Oh yes. Thank you...I mean...." he scurried out of the elevator and walked steadily through the giant double doors into the cavernous entranceway.

"May I take your coat, sir?" the coat check girl asked, extending her arm for Edward to drape it over.

"Uh, no, I'll keep it on, thanks." _No one's going to steal it here, Cullen_. Edward rolled his eyes at himself.

"Champagne, sir?" asked a passing waiter, handing it to Edward before he could answer.

"Great. Cheers." _No one says cheers here, you twit. Why didn't you just come in with a sign that says IMPOSTER? _

Isabella stood on the ivy covered terrace overlooking the large backyard garden, watching the guests mill around the rooftop courtyard, holding their dainty drinks and picking at the plates of food being walked around by the endless number of perfectly pressed servants. The cool night air had a soothing quality that Isabella always preferred to the warmth of the sun and she needed it now, she needed to get away from the smothering heat of her life. The weight she carried every day could sometimes be to heavy to bear and never was that weight more apparent. Usually she was able to justify her life and the way she'd chosen to live it when there was only one Demetri to deal with, but now there were a hundred of him. They were everywhere and with female versions as well.

Leaning against the railing her eyes scanned each guest, looking for one in particular, one that would make all of this easier to bear. She ruled them out by height, weight, body type, sex, hair color, searching the sea of people for the black mask to match her white. But maybe Edward wasn't going to come. Maybe he didn't like the suit. Was it possible that it didn't fit? Isabella had it made and delivered overnight by Demetri's personal tailor so that it would arrive on Edward's doorstep in time for the ball. She designed it herself, created it with the precise stitching and adornment that would allow her to notice it immediately in a large crowd. She could barely sleep last night for imagining what Edward's body would look like covered in such fine materials. She had given the tailor Edward's measurements off the top of her head without second guessing their accuracy for a moment. Could she have been wrong?

Isabella looked at the clock face hanging on the other side of the double glass doors and her face and heart dropped when she saw the time.

Maybe he really wasn't going to come.

**

Edward strolled aimlessly around the massive first floor of the penthouse pretending to mingle, politely bowing to the ladies who giggled into their hands when he smiled. Having glass after glass of champagne to keep himself looking busy he lost count of how many he'd had and was starting to feel a bit tipsy. He saw the man that looked like Isabella's boyfriend across the crowded ballroom and once again thanked god for the mask that was sweating against his face. He turned and made a quick exit into the hall before anyone noticed that he didn't belong there. He avoided several circles of conversation about politics and social reform and eventually found his way outside into the night air of the large courtyard. It was more magnificent than inside. _Is this really the rooftop of a building in the city of Moscow? _ It was easier to mingle without talking when the lights were dim and the music was loud. There was a larger band situated on the patio and Edward wandered over to have a closer listen. He hated to admit it, since he'd yet to see Isabella, but he was actually enjoying himself.

Isabella's heart skipped a beat as it instantly recognized the one man in the crowd below that was different from all the others. Her eyes followed the man's movements through the garden as he stopped to read the description placards located next to each tree and bush and patch of flowers on his way to the bandstand. It was all Isabella could do to stop herself from shimmying down the drainpipe. Instead she went back into the second floor of the penthouse and walked casually and quickly down to the ground level. She did her best to blend into the crowd, difficult in her ornate baby blue ball gown, and headed through the den, taking a shortcut through the kitchen.

"Helena," she asked one of the bakers as she iced a sheet cake." "Did you see someone walk past here? Just now? On their way in from the garden?"

"No, ma'am," she answered timidly.

"Shit. ...Alright. Thank you, Helena. Oh, and..." Isabella stopped with her hand on the door frame and nodded at the baked creation. "...that looks lovely."

Walking back out through the entrance hall in an attempt to make it outside without being noticed, Isabella passed the ballroom and heard Demetri chuckling in the ear of a walking banknote. "Yes well we call those people 'expendables'. Dime a dozen, easily replaced." Isabella could only imagine what people Demetri was talking about. Housemaids? Cooks? Musicians? They're all one in the same to him. Servants put here for his purposes. Isabella felt guilty for thinking poorly of Demetri after all he'd done for her and she had trained herself to focus on the good in him, even if it was sometimes hard to find. Demetri had never mistreated the help. But he _had_ fired them without a second thought of conscience. He was a man who expected perfection and if he didn't get it, he'd find it, leaving those unfortunate enough to disappoint him scattered in his wake.

Isabella made it outside with only a few looks from the guests and groaned when faced with the massive courtyard. It looked so much smaller from her perch on the terrace, but she hugged the walls and walked the perimeter trying to find the spot where she saw Edward standing last. She thought she found it under a tall palm tree but he wasn't there. She was about to turn back and give up when the corner of her eye caught the moonlight flicking off Edward's mask. Isabella stopped herself from breaking into a run to catch him before he headed back inside. Luckily Edward was in awe of everything around him and was stopping frequently to look at just about anything. This time it was a landscape mural painted across the entire western wall that had attracted his attention. Isabella stopped about ten paces behind Edward and savored the moment, watching as he stood next to a bush and looked at the painting. He was in a photograph that couldn't be staged and one that Isabella wanted burned into her memory. How could she interrupt the picture and change it forever?

She didn't have to because Edward had turned around and was looking straight at her. Isabella caught her breath that had been lost for minutes and addressed the fear in Edward's eyes.

"Hello Edward."

"...Huh-hi..."

"Enjoying the party?"

"...Yeah, it's great. I can't believe they let me in."

"You look like you belong here." _I've never seen you look more beautiful. _

"Thanks for the suit. It fits me perfectly. How did you know it would?"

"Lucky guess." Isabella smiled and there was that pause again. "You look exactly like how you play."

"And how's that?"

"...Amazing." She bit her lip as her eyes roamed over the length of Edward's body.

"And _you_ are absolutely breathtaking this evening. As if there was ever any doubt that you could be anything but." Edward took Isabella's smooth hand in his own and raised it to his mouth, inhaling the scent of her skin before pressing his lips against the knuckles of her third and fourth fingers. She swooned under his touch.

"This place is..." Edward sighed, looking around again as if it were the first time. He imagined he'd need several days to fully absorb every room and everything in it, the paintings on the walls, the sculptures, the furniture and rugs.

"How much more is there?" he asked, fingering the bark of a _Chosenia_.

"Alot. I haven't even been in all the rooms and I've lived here for over a year."

"Then I guess I won't ask you for the tour," Edward joked.

Isabella didn't smile back. Her face was serious, as serious as it could be with a glass mask fitted over it. They were still more than ten steps apart but the air around them was charged with electricity. They might as well be in each others arms.

"There is one room I'd like to show you," she reached for his hand. "Come this way. We'll duck around the back."

* * *

**The night is still young! Much more to come.**


	7. Relevés are forever

_**Relevés are forever.**_

After quickly and quietly walking up several flights of stairs in the dark, they finally arrived at an enormous set of carved double doors with impressive gold knobs. Isabella pushed down on the handles and they entered a massive open space. Paintings of musicians and composers - Edward recognized most of them as pianists - hung on the walls. One of a kind sheet music, faded and cracked with age, was on display in glass cases and in the center of the room, a 1876 Steinway D Centennial 272. It was the only piece of furniture in the room. Edward slid his mask to the top of his head and walked around her in awe.

"It's magnificent," he whispered, but even his whisper echoed around the cavernous room.

"I thought you'd think so. It's never been played," Isabella said, following Edward's steps, the hem of her gown shushing along the polished hardwood floor.

"_What_?" Edward was appalled. How could an instrument that fine go unused, unappreciated; her potential unfulfilled? "That's terrible!!"

Isabella laughed. "I thought you'd think that, too." There was nowhere else to sit in the room so Isabella pulled out the piano bench and nodded for Edward to join her. She gathered her skirts underneath her to make room for Edward to sit.

"Play something."

"Huh?"

"_Play_. I know you know how. I've have heard you before, yknow. Who else to better introduce her to her full potential than you?"

Isabella blushed crimson as she said the words. She was trying really hard to give Edward compliments under the radar without it sounding too obvious how completely fucking bowled over she was by him. Sure she had seen him at the studio every day for weeks on end, but Edward was always wearing the same thing, or a version of the same thing, grey trousers, a rumpled white button down turned cream with wear, worn out black boots with the toes scuffed down. Isabella knew he was gorgeous then but she was always too preoccupied with the dance and the music to properly notice what it truly was about him that weakened her knees when she least expected it.

Edward waggled his fingers over the porcelain keys and tried to tune out the sound of Isabella breathing next to him. He closed his eyes and started to play, nothing in particular at first, a warm up tune, but then it turned into something more. It turned into the opening piece of the ballet Isabella performed the night before. And Isabella began to think that this wasn't such a great idea after all. It was all becoming too much, the sound of Edward's playing coupled with it being _Edward_ sitting next to her playing it, nowhere for her to hide, no instructor, no dance, no one around to control her, nothing for her to do with her hands but to reach out and pull Edward's face to her own and press their lips together without thinking about right or wrong. Edward's playing trickled off and faded away as his hands found their way to Isabella's face, pushing her mask to the top of her head, revealing her lust-filled eyes and their kisses became deeper and more passionate and joined by desperate throaty groans. Finally they pulled away, panting.

Several seconds had passed with just the sounds of their arousal wafting between their lips and Isabella began to think she'd made a mistake. She was about to apologize when Edward leaned in and pressed his lips back to hers. She could feel him trembling against her and she reached up to cup his chin in her hand, running a thumb down his cheek to calm him as she slowly opened her mouth and let her tongue flick against his teeth. He opened up for her and when their tongues touched, he heard Isabella sigh sweetly into his mouth. When he finally pulled away, he shook the fog from his mind and licked his tongue over his lips. He looked up to find the most genuine and beautiful smile he had ever seen spread across Isabella's face.

"I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry," Edward said apologetically, running his palms up and down her neck, pausing over her throbbing pulse points.

"Done what? I think _I _kissed _you_."

"You hardly know me." He looked suddenly uncomfortable in his fancy tuxedo, pulling absentmindedly at his jacket and bow tie. It was all too good to be true and he was scared to death of how intense his feelings for her had become.

"I know you well enough to know that there's no one else in this country I'd rather be with right now."

"Oh god, Isabella. Please don't say that to me."

"Why not?"

"Because...I...I think I should go."

"Edward, no. Tell me." He'd been trying to get up from the piano but Isabella grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down.

"...Because you're the last person on earth I need to be falling in love with."

"Maybe," she replied. "Maybe you're right about that. Maybe we don't need to start this. But what do you want? Because want and need are two very different things."

She was feeling unnaturally cocky as she spoke the words...because she knew their hearts were racing at the same speed and Edward's face was bright pink and his palms were sweating.

"I know what they are," Edward replied, a tinge of irritation in his voice. He stood up and straightened his disheveled attire.

"So what do you want?"

"..."

"Do you even _know_ what you want, Edward?" Isabella stood and stepped towards him.

"Of course I know what I want! _Fuck_. Why are you doing this to me?" His hands flew to his hair and he rushed at her, walking her backwards until they both bumped into the piano. "And don't say you're not doing anything," he growled. "Because you _are_ and you've been doing it to me ever since I first met you. …Do you remember that day?"

Isabella couldn't find the words to answer - she was so taken aback by Edward's aggression. She had never seen him this way. She knew he was passionate about the music but she had never seen him outwardly emotional, looking at another person with fire in his eyes.

She swallowed deeply.

"Do you?!" Edward demanded.

"Yes...I remember."

"I was answering an advertisement, _Pianist needed, long hours, Must be classically trained. _I needed that job more than I've ever needed a job in my life. I'm not classically trained but I went in anyway. _Yes, I can play it all_, I told them. They handed me the sheet music for songs I'd never heard of but I took the books home and I studied them and the next day I came in and I played. Then _you_ walked in. You put your bag down and I heard the trainer tell you I was the new pianist. You had your back turned to me, you think I didn't notice, but I saw you smiling at me in the mirror. I knew from that day on that my life would never be the same. And yes, ok...I wanted you then...and I still want you now."

Isabella didn't speak, she just stared at Edward with her large brown orbs swirling and Edward moved closer so his breath was playing right along her cheek. He felt a waterfall in his throat and dams breaking and valleys flooding. He closed his eyes and poured out all the things he'd been writing for Isabella in his head. _If I'm ever good enough for her I'll say...If I'm ever dying in her arms I'll say..._

"I waited for you. I waited silently for days and weeks to hear your voice in my direction. But it never came. There was only the sound of your body cutting the air, your slippered feet on the hardwood. You never let on that we were in the same dimension, so I came to believe that we weren't. I could have been sending music backwards or forwards in time to you in another century because you never acknowledged me. I thought maybe it was better that way…until that night before your first performance. Do you remember that night? When our centuries finally bled together and we touched and spoke and you finally looked at me? And I knew then that you were real and that I was addicted to your voice and the sight of your lips forming my name."

"Edward I-"

"There. Just like that. …You can't ask me what I want. I want _you_. It doesn't change anything. I've wanted you for months. It doesn't matter that you know that any more than it would if you had known it the first day we met. We're not meant to be together and trying will be too hard. So I'll keep pressing keys, dreaming of you, and you will keep dancing gorgeous and silent behind me and we'll both hope that one day the world will fall away and leave the two of us alone with champagne and borrowed clothes and a piano to hide under."

"..._Please,"_ she gulped_._ "Please, Edward. ...Don't go. Don't leave me." It was all she could bring herself to say. He had completely leveled her.

"I'm not going anywhere. I couldn't leave you if I tried. …Thank you again for inviting me..." he smiled. Isabella leaned in and caught his lips in her mouth, going all the way in, taking Edward's full mouth into her own, kissing him for a few long moments, holding Edward in place, feeling his desperate movements in sync with her own, feeling him breathing through his nose, and then letting go deliberately, releasing Edward's top lip first and then his bottom, but she didn't pull away...she stayed in the same place as if they were still kissing, just looking at Edward's beautiful features so close.

"Mmm," Edward blushed, sliding his thumb through the saliva Isabella left puddled underneath his bottom lip.

"What..." Isabella asked, pushing closer.

"You kiss me different."

"Different than what?"

"Different than anyone else has ever kissed me."

Isabella slid her hand inside Edward's suit jacket and felt her his way over his ribcage, fingering those delicate bones individually and making her way around Edward's side. Edward jumped in his skin and Isabella pulled away, startled.

"What is it?" sheasked breathlessly. "I'm sorry. I can't help it. I didn't know it was going to feel this good being close to you…"

"No, it's not that. But thank you for saying it and I feel the same. It's just that…I, uh, I don't want you to…" Edward reached into the inside pocket of his tuxedo and pulled out the slightly squished but still fragrant purple flower that Isabella wore behind her ear the night she ever so gently placed it behind his.

"...crush it."

"You kept it…?" Isabella took it from Edward's fingers and twirled it in her own. "I can't believe you did that. I get hundreds of these thrown at me every night."

"I don't."

She sighed and sat back down on the piano bench, pulling Edward down with her.

"…Would you like to know the real reason I gave you the ticket?"

"He nodded. He wanted to know everything about her.

Isabella sighed and leaned on her hands. "I don't need music to dance. I don't need it to help me stay in time and I don't need it to make sure I hit my marks. I definitely don't need it to help me hold my partner. In fact, if I were to go deaf tomorrow I would still be able to do exactly what I did last night. I only have to see a routine done once and I can do it. And I'll do it better than anyone."

Edward wasn't sure where this was going and he wasn't sure what this had to do with the question he had just been asked, but he could listen to Isabella talk all night about nothing at all so he'd be damned if he interrupted.

"That might sound conceited, but I'm merely stating fact. There have been times when I've been told after a show that I had just been accompanied by one of the all time greatest pianists in the history of the Russian ballet and 'Can you believe it, Isabella? Isn't that remarkable? What an honor! We didn't want to tell you because we didn't want it to put you off.' Do you want to know the truth? They were lucky to have _me_ dancing for _them_. Not the other way around. _Put me off?_ It made me laugh."

Isabella fell silent for what seemed like an eternity of torturous hellfire, he might as well have his toenails pulled from his nail beds slowly and one by one. He could feel his underarms starting to perspire while he tried to figure out if Isabella was waiting for him to say something or if she was merely losing interest.

"Then _you_ came along. Another fucking accompanist had quit - low pay, long hours, me...who knew what the problem was. I told Nicolai that they didn't need to get someone else. I don't need anyone. But Demetri..." Isabella tripped over the name, as if saying it had made him enter the room. "He insisted. Only the best for.......well, anyway, it was done. The next day at rehearsal there you were. I heard Nicolai ask you if you knew the piece and you said no. I saw how he looked at you. With disgust and annoyance. I saw him toss the sheet music at you like he was throwing change at the poor and I knew there were pages missing. You were never going to be able to follow along. But then you started playing and...I've never made so many mistakes in my life."

"I was nervous. My fingers were numb," Edward blushed and looked into his lap. His knees were shaking even though they're folded.

"_I_ was the one who was nervous. Edward, there isn't a musician in Moscow who hasn't tried to get an appointment with me, to present themselves to me and prove to me that they're worthy to work a show for me. The one who played last night, Frederic, the German, he never misses a note. Ever. But there's no emotion in his playing. It's just the notes and the directions on the page and nothing more. Not with you. The very next class you didn't even take the pages out of your bag. Don't you see? We're the same in that way. Just once, and we can do it better than anyone."

They kissed tenderly and Edward pushed his hands into her hair, fingering through the loose, silken tendrils. She pulled away before she fainted and rested her head on Edward's shoulder, attempting to catch her breath.

"I'm leaving for Paris in a day or two."

"Are you coming back?"

"Yes. And when I do I begin practicing for my next ballet right away."

"Oh." Edward knew the disappointment was clear in his voice. Nicolai had yet to tell him if he still had a job and Edward was already looking for other work.

She rested her warm hand on his and squeezed it. "I want you to be my pianist, Edward."

"Y-you do?"

"Yes. But not only during practice. I want you onstage with me, to play for me during my performance. Will you do it?"

"I'll do anything for you." Edward's attempt to lure Isabella's mouth back to his was thwarted by the sudden crashing open of the heavy wooden doors...and the bellow of a voice Edward would never forget for the rest of his days.

"What is this?? _ISABELLA!!_ What's going on in here??!!"

* * *


	8. Stars in your eyes may be nice to have

There's some jumping back and forth in time in this chapter. Also introducing and building on a few new characters. Not all the characters correspond to or are based on characters in the Twilight series. Others are. And I like the name Alex way better than Alec. Weird how one little letter can make a difference. But my Alex has nothing to do with Twilight's Alec. I just like him. So there. ;p

There's further explanation at the bottom, if I don't lose you before then.

S. Meyer owns Twilight

* * *

**Stars in your eyes may be nice to have**

Isabella was closest to the door and immediately leapt from the piano bench as two security guards stepped from the hallway to flank Demetri's sides. As if they were needed. The look on Demetri's face said it all. If he wanted he could kill everyone in the house single-handedly with fire from his mouth. Several seconds passed with only the sound of breathing in the room; the last tones of the grand piano having died at the second breathless sigh minutes before.

Demetri finally took a few menacing steps forward with his arms crossed over his chest, narrowing his eyes even further than before, and Edward stood, his eyes scanning for escape routes. But there were none. Instead he stared head on into the face of absolute anger and seething rage.

"Isabella Swan," Demetri boomed. "I asked you a question. I expect it to be answered."

Edward saw Isabella straighten and tip up her chin, gathering false courage from all corners of the room, a little from the left corner, more from under the piano bench, a little more borrowed from the stunning bronzed haired boy behind her. When she did speak, Edward instantly recognized the voice of "Studio" Isabella. The one that was larger than life, better than everyone around her, bored with your stupid breathing and frankly bothered by your very existence.

"Edward came by to pick up the music he needs to look over in my absence next week. _You're_ the one who wants me back in the studio the hour of our return and if he's not prepared then what good will he do me? I don't appreciate you implying deceit in front of guests."

"Don't _lie_ to me. He came dressed like that? Tonight of all nights? Where did he get that suit?"

"How should I know? I hardly think that's any of my concern."

Isabella heard Edward suck in a tiny hurt breath and a little piece of her heart broke. If only Edward could hear her thoughts. _You don't know Demetri. Please understand I'm trying to get you out of here alive. Please please understand._

"Isabella we had an agreement. As I stand here it's apparent that you have broken it. And then to outright lie-"

"Our agreement still stands. I told you he came for the music. We were working out the beginning piece and he was just leaving."

Isabella spun on her heel and appraised Edward with a lofty indifference that stung his eyes. Edward couldn't tear his gaze away from the lips that were just pressing against his own.

"That will be all, Edward. Make sure you're in the studio on the Monday morning of our return. Early. Don't be late and remember you _are_ replaceable." Edward ducked his head and nodded, uttering the most pitiful little _yes ma'am_ he believed he'd ever uttered in his life and stepped to the side of Isabella.

"Oh and Edward," Isabella added. He turned to her, hoping he'd find even a flicker of the fire that had once smoldered in her eyes. But there was nothing. Only a dead shell of a forgotten memory. "Please take the servant's door at the back to the alley behind the building. We wouldn't want your presence known to our guests."

Demetri motioned for one of the guards to come closer to him, and without looking away from Isabella he murmured, "Tell our guests that Isabella has taken ill and will be unable to attend the remainder of the party this evening. I'll be down in a few minutes. We just need to...clear up a few things here first."

Edward fully expected Demetri to shift his glare to him as he began walking towards the door. He was even prepared to be attacked the second he'd moved a safe distance from Isabella. But Demetri's eyes never left her. He didn't give Edward a single glance as he waved a hand for the remaining security guard to remove him like a rodent. Edward kept his head down and from the corner of his eye he watched Demetri approach Isabella and hiss into her face.

"You reek of poverty. You'll sleep on the terrace tonight. If you're going to act like a common animal then I'll _treat _you like one. But first I'm going to make sure you remember that this degree of disrespect will...NOT...be tolerated."

Edward was almost completely through the door when he turned his head back just once, just for the tiniest second to see Demetri raise his hand to her. He was then pushed sharply from behind, unable to see the impact of it landing across her cheekbone and jaw. But he heard it. A sharp crack followed by the sound of the white mask shattering to pieces on the polished floor. Edward tried to turn and slip past the guard but a slick pistol was pressed into his right side. Another sound - this time a dull thump - reached his ears from down the corridor. The sound of a well-shoed foot making contact with a small body.

And all he could do was walk away.

He might as well have been crawling as he slipped through the long hallway, down a back staircase, cold metal pressed into his side through the kitchen where the wonderful smells served only to make him nauseous now. The art was hideous, the polishing dull and every tinkling laugh drifting in from the main room made his chest clench in anger. He'd never transitioned so fast from witnessing a beautiful perfect moment to taking part in its absolute devastation. The rush of the void left him breathless and broken. Every time he saw a vase or a heavy antique that could be smashed over the guard's head, a doorway that might lead back to Isabella, and it passed it by, he felt that much more like he might never make it home. That he might curl up in the gutter and just waste away. He thought, as he walked through the back door with a rough shove and a slam of the heavy iron security gate, how funny it was that he couldn't remember the last time he felt this absolutely worthless. Over the years he'd gone through hunger, even having to steal a few times to live or to feed a friend, the time he'd watched a friend _die_ because he couldn't do anything to save him. And yet it only took a few hours in Isabella's world to drop his existence even further, to the meaning of dirt under his feet. The only truly magical and exciting moment in his life had just been slapped off the face of the person that he had fallen in love with.

_Shit, Edward, what have you gotten yourself into?_

He didn't remember walking the miles of meaningless distance back to the artists house. He was left alone, when he would normally be harassed on this side of town, because of the suit he was wearing. The beautiful suit that he couldn't wait to get off his body. It was scratching reminders into his flesh with every step. His head was clouded with confusion. The day before, even that very evening a few hours earlier, he had been so happy and care free. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have let this happen? There was no chance. What did he expect? Did he expect Isabella to run away with him? Did he think they'd travel Italy following the grape harvests from vineyard to vineyard for the rest of their lives? He couldn't make her happy. He couldn't support the lifestyle she was used to. He clenched fists in his hair and let out a groan of anguish as he realized he was missing a crucial point. How did she really feel about him? Sure she kissed him. She said he enjoyed being with him...no. _Touching_ him. That's what she said, right? And now she was probably getting a beating even now for what? Lust?

_I'm in love with her. I am.  
_

He heard his name uttered softly and he looked up absolutely shocked to find himself standing in front of the porch steps of the house. All the lights were out and it was quiet except for Alex smoking on the steps. Waiting for him.

"How did you know I'd come back here?" Edward asked weakly.

"Are you ok?"

Edward's voice caught in his throat and he let his guard down for Alex, only Alex, as a tear slipped down his face.

"I...I honestly don't know."

Alex stood and gently took Edward in his arms, wrapping a hand up his neck and deep into the soft hair at the back of Edward's head. He let Edward cry for a few minutes uninterrupted before he asked again.

"What happened?"

"Everything. Nothing. It was perfect and horrible."

"Were you caught?"

"Yes." It was all Edward could do to say it and a fresh set of sobs made his next words barely understandable. "_We_ were caught. She kissed me and there was a piano and it was so beautiful and she understands me. She does. She said she wants me to come back and be her pianist full-time and then her boyfriend-"

"Wait. _Boyfriend?_ ...Edward you didn't say she had-"

He threw himself back from Alex's body screaming and sobbing and Alex could only stand and stare and try to catch half of what h was saying.

"_I love her!_ What the fuck am I going to do?? I can't stand another second of pretending to be someone I'm not and that's what I'll always have to do to be a part of her life! Or get used to feeling like...I can't feel like this!! I feel like I'm dying! And the way she spoke to me when there were others around... I fucking hate that world. _I HATE IT!!_ The man that claims to love her is beating her right now. I saw him DO IT!! And I could do nothing because what do I have?! NOTHING!!"

Alex finally broke out of his stunned stupor and grabbed Edward again, hugging him tight and pulling him into the house, murmuring that he'd get him a drink and they could talk about everything. _It'll be ok, Edward. Promise. _Edward whispered 'you were right' against Alex's shoulder and all Alex could do was hold him closer and wish he had never said anything at all that afternoon.

**

Isabella was startled out of a fitful sleep by the sounds of birds twittering above her and the chilly sensation of morning dew settling on her skin. The sun was rising over the city as she managed to find her feet and stand on shaky legs riddled with pins and needles and numb from hours tucked under a shivering body. The thin sheet and flimsy pillow the chambermaid had handed her on her way out to the terrace did little to protect her from the cold Russian night. She had smiled at Jane weakly, and put her hand on her shoulder as she took them from the girl's hands. She knew it was not the girl's doing. She saw in her eyes wet with tears that she wished should could have given Isabella one of the dozens of heavy duvets and comforters from the hall closet or at the very least a down pillow for her to rest her pretty head on. "It's alright, Jane. It's not your fault," Isabella had said softly. Looking in from the balcony she nodded 'goodnight' before turning back and laying the sheet down on the stone. Sitting with her legs drawn to her chest and her knees under her chin, she watched the interior lights of the penthouse flicker off one by one as darkness surrounded her. The courtyard below, that only hours before held so much life and music and..._Edward_...now made the noises of the night. Her stomach churned and burned with bile-filled nausea at the thought of Demetri sleeping soundly in their bed, without a margin of guilt that his meal-ticket was banished to the terrace like a dog. After hours of reflection and thought, she somehow managed to fall into a broken, uncomfortable, half-lidded sleep for a few minutes at a time until dawn.

She stretched and winced as her muscles screamed and her joints cracked in anger. She guessed it was near 5am, which meant Demetri should be awake. He was an early riser, up with the servants, who he expected to be on the job at half past four. Dressed in one of his many smoking jackets and leather slippers, he'd take his morning tea and smoke in the study and the newspaper as soon as it had been dropped on the doorstep by the bellboy.

Isabella opened the terrace double doors slowly, peeking her head inside and making a dash for the bedroom. She laced through the room quickly breathing a sigh of relief at seeing the unmade bed . She entered the master bath and was just about to peel her dress off when she heard a light tap on the door. Scrunching her eyes in dread, she turned to find the last face she saw last night standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"He wants to see you," Jane said with sadness in her hazel eyes. She approached Isabella slowly and with caution, as though she were a jumpy mare.

"I'll run you a hot bath while you're gone...Isabella," she smiled. Calling Isabella by her first name was something Jane had been doing since she became the exclusive chambermaid of the top floor and master bedroom. As an invisible human fly on the wall, she was privy to goings-on that other servants were not. Demetri paid her no mind and even when she was in the room he did not censor his speech or actions, especially when it came to Isabella. Jane had never seen Demetri strike Isabella, but she _had_ seen the effects of his obvious wrath...up and down her spine, across her back, on her upper arms, the nape of her neck....but this was the first time Jane had ever seen marks on her face.

"Thanks," she answered genuinely, taking a quick look in the bathroom mirror to survey the damage before heading downstairs.

**

On the other, far grimier, side of town, Edward woke up in a bed that wasn't his own. He'd stayed the night at the artist common house instead of going home to his brother's. He knew Rosalie would be sick with worry when she found out that he never came home, but he couldn't face those pleading eyes and Emmett's judgmental stare. It was all too much for him to bear in his already crumbling state of mind. So he asked the guys if he could stay. All the rooms were full that time of year - Paul was back from England, Jasper and the band were taking a break from touring, Sam and Jake never left, Alice and Tanya were sharing a room and working at the hotel in town as desk clerks.

And then there was Alex. You could never get a good read on Alex.

It was a big house, dilapidated and cheap, but big and drafty, and there was always a space to sleep somewhere - couch, floor, climb into a bed and make room. Edward lived at the house for a period of time when he first came to Moscow from Chicago. He shared a room with Alex...a room _and_ a bed. Then his brother, Emmett, moved into a small home with his wife, Rosalie, and insisted Edward come live with them. It was a difficult decision but one made easier after he and Alex had a...falling out. All that was forgotten now and there were times when Edward contemplated moving back in, but he had a place to stay now and the rooms at the "house" were better used for their friends who had no place else to go...and for times like the one Edward currently found himself in.

Alex was small...deceivingly so. He appeared to be the smallest member of the house stature-wise. His frame was made of many delicate lines that meet at sharp angles, slight shoulders and a thin back with a spine like a wiry rod, stomach flat as a sheet of paper...but with his shirt off there was muscle, defined arms and angel wings. His hair was an overgrown black wave cut messy with dull scissors from his art supply box that, if left unwashed for more than a day, became stringy and shiny and that was how Edward liked it best. Alex reminded Edward of a bird that was so pretty to look at but that would bite without warning if you put your finger too close.

He was Edward's first friend.

They bumped into each other on a crowded narrow city street one winter afternoon, Edward's bony elbow knocking Alex's sandwich to the ground. It was all Alex had been able to afford to eat all day and he was about to take it personally when he saw the look of absolute horror on Edward's face. Edward, who hadn't been able to afford to eat _anything_ that day, fell to his knees to retrieve the portion that hadn't fallen out of the wrapper when he felt a strong hand grip him under his armpit and pull him to his feet.

"Where do you live?" said that accent eerily similar to his own. The first thing Edward noticed was his nose, prominent and well-defined. and glasses. Alex sometimes wore glasses, an outdated prescription and dorky frames but they helped, and look perfect perched on the bridge of that nose. Edward could see himself in the reflection and was instantly self-conscious at his wild hair sticking up in all directions, his pale complexion.

"In...at...the youth hostel..."

"For our wayward and misguided youth," Alex finished the slogan by heart, his gaze wandering across the street, checking out the people coming and going. Alex was always aware of his surroundings. "Ah you poor young thing. Just arrived in town, did ya?"

"Yeah."

"Cold here, innit?"

"Yeah. A bit."

"Comin' from America?"

"Yeah."

"What for?"

"I play piano."

"You couldn't do that _there_? Seems like a long way to come for music."

"There's nothing for me in Chicago."

"No family?"

Edward shook his head. "I have a brother, but he met a girl and she has family here. Then I met some people who said there was work out here...in this district in particular...for that sort of thing."

"You know they kick you out after a week. The youth hostel, I mean."

"Yeah. I know."

"What are you runnin' from?" Alex's gaze finally turned to Edward for the first time in their conversation.

"Nuh-nuthin," Edward swallowed thickly, his stomach growling so hard it's making him sick.

"Uh huh. Then what are you runnin' _towards_?" Alex should have been an interrogator for Scotland Yard. He saw that he had Edward thoroughly confused. He also saw that he had a distinct problem on his hands. Because Edward was gorgeous, even though he could use an extra ten pounds and a bath, he was one of the most striking creatures Alex had ever seen.

"Forget it. We're all runnin', arent we? Look, let me make a call. Wait here, yeah? I mean it. I'll be right back." Alex held up one fingerless gloved finger and walked backwards holding Edward's stare. Edward leaned against a signpost, his wavy hair blowing across his forehead in the wind, and watched Alex go to a bank of phones, plunk a few coins in, say a few words, hang up, and come right back. Just like he said he would.

"You're still here," Alex observed with a cheeky grin, his hands now in his pockets.

"You told me to wait." Edward was starting to think he was being watched.

"I'm glad you did. You hungry? Don't answer that. I've got eyes. Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"You're in luck. Unlike Mary and Joseph...there_ is_ a room at the Inn." Alex smirked and grabbed Edward by his lapel, pulling him down the sidewalk. "By the way...I'm Alexander. You can call me Alex."

Without having to be asked, Alex dropped Edward off at the house, introducing him as "Edward, you can call him Edward, he'll be staying with us, I'll be right back" and left straight away for the hostel to pick up the few things Edward had left there. While Alex was gone, the girls sat Edward down at the kitchen table, gave him the rest of the hot water in the kettle, the last piece of bread in the cupboard, and Alice split her blueberry scone with him. Then, even though Jasper's room was empty and there was an extra bed in Jake's, they showed him to Alex's room because they knew that's what Alex would want. And that's where he stayed happily for many months until their similarities grew too similar and their differences too difficult to avoid.

So how did Edward find himself in Alex's bed once again? The same morning light that woke Isabella outside was visible in Alex's bedroom through a thin line streaming between the heavy curtains, deep red tapestries that hung long, too long for the length of the deep red wall, they puddled on the floor in a perfect pile. Edward didn't have to open his eyes to know what the room he was in looked like. It was his home for so long, he knew it's smell, it's layout, it's inhabitant who was currently laying next to him. The linens felt the way they felt after Alex did laundry. _He must have washed these recently_, Edward thought, inhaling deeply. He wanted to turn over to look at Alex, who he knew was there - he could feel the weight of a body in bed next to him - but he was too comfortable on his side of the bed to move. His side. The right side. The side closest to the window. The side Alex gave him that very first night. The memories were enough to overwhelm him to the point where he had to think for a moment what he was doing there, what year was it, how did he get there.

He darted his eyes to Alex's beat up desk and saw the black suit hanging over the chair, the black glass mask sitting on a pile of books. He threw the covers off and stood up in his boxers and nothing else, his heart slamming against his chest. The cat clock on the wall grinned 5:45 down at him. Edward turned towards the bed and his heart stopped. Laying on his back with his head tilted towards the interior of the bed, tangled in the covers (Alex could never handle being restricted by sheets and blankets and always fought them in his sleep), his feet sticking out the bottom, Alex was sleeping soundly, quietly. He never snored, in fact, he barely breathed. Tiny sparse breaths inhaled and exhaled quickly like a kitten. All he needed to do was purr and the description would be spot on. His hair was an immaculate mess, fanned out over the pillow and the side of his face, looking exactly like it does when he's awake.

Alex's eyes opened a crack and spotted Edward eyeing him from the edge of the bed. He cocked an eyebrow. "How long have you been standing there?"

"A few minutes. I just woke up and for a moment thought..."

"You had gone back in time?" Alex pulled the sheet from under and around his legs, freeing himself and continued to stretch standing up with his arms over his head. Edward turned towards the window so he wouldn't be tempted to watch but his eyes found their way to the reflection in the mirror.

"If it would erase what happened last night, I almost wish I had." Edward tried to close the door of his mind that lead to the penthouse, the music room, Isabella's moist, full lips on top of his, her heaving chest pressed against him and the way they both lost their breath in each other's mouths..

"Thanks for letting me stay. I know I haven't been around much since I took that job...and after...y'know...you and I...and what happened..." Edward trailed the sentence off, not wanting to tread over old wounds.

_It's over._

Edward could feel Alex crossing the room to come up behind him. He knew that any second he'd feel Alex wrap his arms around him and clasp his hands around Edward's naked waist. _There they are._ Then he'd rest his chin on Edward's strong shoulder... _there it is..._and sigh..._that too_. It scared him how well they know each other, their bodies and the order in which they did things.

So how was it possible that Edward had even stronger, more intense feelings for another - a woman he knew virtually nothing about?

"She's leaving today, for Paris. I'll never see her again, I know it." He reached his hand back and patted the side of Alex's face as he felt the tears start to come.

"Take a shower. And get dressed," Alex slapped him gently on the ass and picked up a shirt and pair of jeans off the floor and pushed them into Edward's chest. Alex marveled at the definition in Edward's taut stomach, but he pushed the thoughts away. He couldn't make this about him anymore. This was about Edward. His friend.

"Huh? Why?" Edward asked with a puzzled look on his face.

"No questions. And hurry up. We're going out."

**

The penthouse looked completely different in the early morning...like an institution or a penitentiary...and Isabella was it's most famous prisoner. Take a left at the bottom of the grand staircase and continue through the west wing to its farthest corner. Isabella walked it without turning on any lights; house lights didn't come up until 6:00am, per Demetri. She saw the glow at the end of the hallway coming from the study. She walked in without knocking and stood a few feet inside, hands clasped at the small of her back. Demetri was sitting in his high-backed leather recliner facing the fire.

"You wanted to see me?" Isabella asked robotically to the back of the chair.

"Your things have been packed in the new suitcases I bought in Milan and are being loaded into the car as we speak. Our flight leaves in three hours for Paris, which should give you plenty of time to pull yourself together."

"I think I look fine," Isabella's words were dripping with sarcasm as she brushed her hands down her filthy, rumpled dress. "Especially my face. Don't you think it suits me? Why don't you have a look at your...what did you call me last night? _Enchanting?_ _Ravishing?"_ She closed her eyes, knowing she was pressing her luck way too far. She should know better but she never learned. Demetri got up slowly and turned, folding the paper and setting it on the chair.

"I'd be very careful if I were you, Isabella. You're forgetting yourself."

"That's where you're wrong. You'll _never_ let me forget." Demetri was a good half-head taller than Isabella, but Isabella held her own, standing up straight with her heels together and looking directly into those black eyes.

"And," Isabella eyed Demetri's clenched fist. "I wouldn't hit me again if I were you. At least not in my face next time. You're going to have a hard enough time explaining _these_ marks to your associates in France. But you just tell me what the story is, like always, and I'll go along with it. Tumble down the stairs? Trip up the walk? Those are always good ones."

**

"What are we _doing here_, Alex?" Edward hissed from the dark alley behind a building directly across the street from Isabella's. They're hidden safely out of view but with a perfect lookout position. It was almost as if Alex knew the spot would be there. "What makes you think I'd ever want to come back to this part of town let alone this fucking street and this fucking building?"

"You _said_ you were never going to see her again. ...Well........" Alex checked his watch and peeked his head around the corner. The limo was still parked out in front and the driver was leaning against the open passenger door. He brought his head back around. _ Not yet. Any minute now._ Alex muscled Edward against the cold brick wall so he couldn't get away.

"Well _what_?! I thought you were my friend?? Why would you bring me here after what happened last night? To rub it in my face?? Thanks afuckinglot. Now let me go. I'm leaving." Edward shoved his elbow into Alex's chest to get him to move out of his way.

"Just wait a fucking second, will ya? Christ." Alex rolled his eyes and looked at his watch again. He peeked his head back around the corner. _There she is_.

"There she is," Alex grabbed Edward by the collar and switched places with him, thrusting him to the edge of the wall and pushing his head around the corner. "Look!"

Edward's eyes focused on the view across the street. At first all he could see was the big fucking limo that carted Isabella, Demetri and co. around. Big deal. Then the large front doors of the building opened and Demetri appeared. Edward pursed his lips and thanked god that Alex had him by the scruff of his neck or he might have darted across the street and leapt on the sonofabitch. Demetri talked to the driver for a moment before ducking into the car. Edward barely had time to catch his breath before the doors opened again and out walked Isabella. Alex heard the cry jump from Edward's throat.

She was wearing dark sunglasses that were too big for her face and she was dressed in black from head to toe. Her long hair was tucked into a tight bun. The exact opposite of how she looked last night.

_That would make sense....last night was a dream...today is the reality. _

She stood on the last step and handed her carry-on bag to the driver who brought it to the trunk. But she didn't get into the car. She was looking around like she was looking for someone, like she was about to raise his finger to gauge the direction of the wind. Edward felt an odd tingle in his stomach and suddenly he didn't feel so safe and hidden anymore. But he couldn't stop looking at her. Isabella lifted her sunglasses from her face and slid them to the top of her hair. Edward swore he saw the shadow of a blackened eye. Isabella scanned the sidewalk and without warning her eyes _darted up_! and landed directly on Edward. The distance between both sides of the street was reduced to the width of a grain of sand.

She had him in her sight, hidden on the narrow street corner, and Edward would swear to the day he died that he heard her suck in a trembling gasp of air. A dimple of a smile filled with hope curled in the corner of her mouth and Edward felt his mouth drop open to call out to her.

"Isabella! In the car. _NOW_." Demetri's voice shot through the air and she wiped the smile off her face fast and joined him in the limo.

Edward immediately ducked back into the alley, his heart pounding a mile a minute.

"Shit what happened??!! Did you see her?" Alex asked.

"....yes....I saw her..." Edward was panting like he'd just been chased out of a bakery with a stolen loaf of bread.

"And?? Does she look hurt??"

"She looks alright I suppose. It was hard to tell. It all happened so fast. ...She's beautiful no matter what."

Alex tossed Edward out of the way so he could see the car drive off. "They've gone. Well....that's it then. Let's get something to eat, yeah?"

* * *

OK so here goes. YES, Alex and Edward had a "relationship" when they first met. But it is COMPLETELY over and has been for a long time before Edward and Bella even met. And it's NOT going to start back up again at any time during this story EVER. They are never going to be anything other than friends. Edward feelings for Bella are lightyears ahead of whatever happened between he and Alex. She is the only one for Edward. Let's just get that straight. (haha). There is a specific reason why I want it to be this way, which will come together in future chapters. Hope I didn't lose anyone. xo


	9. Stay! Stay! Damn it Stay!

Thank you so much for favoriting and reviewing :)

S. Meyer owns Twilight

* * *

**_Stay!!!! Stay!!!! Damn it Stay!!!!_ **

Isabella's mother was a magical fortune teller. At least that's what Isabella thought for most of her childhood. She never quite remembered if that's what she was told, either by her mother or someone else entirely, or if that's just what she assumed. Her mother was beautiful, always dressed in simple but intricate flowing dresses with long blond hair all the way down her back and Isabella still to this day thought she smelled her mother's scent on the street. She smelled like tea and rosemary and lavender and other things they couldn't afford. Sometimes Isabella would lay across the wooden floor in the library, always when Demetri wasn't available to snarl a _what the fuck are you doing_ at her, in a patch of sun and imagine that she was back in the apartment in New York City that she shared with her mother and her younger brother, Andrew. There were only three small rooms but they were always full of warmth and floating, sparkling dust smelling of hot sunlight. Her mother was always humming, singing, teaching them practical things like what flowers are best to decorate cakes with and how to stitch a star into the top of your cap so you will always have one above your head.

A man came to their house early one morning and Isabella looked into his bearded face and thought that maybe her father had come home. But it wasn't him and, instead of hugs, her mother jumped up from tying Andrew's shoes and hissed as she pushed the man back into the yard. _How dare you come into the house with my children present._

The only other thing besides her mother that made Isabella endlessly happy was dancing. She danced for her mother every day and every day she would skip down the street and watch the "real" dancers through the window. She was usually catch an entire run-through before someone came out and shooed her away with a broom, but that was all it took. She had memorized the entire thing in that amount of time. And if she hadn't she could make up the rest. The studio was the first place she went at thirteen when her mother died and her brother was taken in by a great aunt that lived in California. Isabella was left to the streets to find her own way because she was supposedly old enough, and the owners took her in and gave her a cot and hard work to do every day and that's where she stayed until Demetri found her.

It was two years later on a train to Moscow that Isabella had lain her head against the shoulder of her _provider,_ not yet haven been taken to bed as she was only fifteen, and sighed as she gazed at the finely dressed woman across the aisle from them. Her long blond hair was pulled up into a graceful swoop on top of her head and Isabella longed to walk over and just...sit beside her. Only for a second.

"That woman. She reminds me of my mother."

Demetri had peeked over the edge of his paper cleared his throat and announced bluntly,

"Your mother was a whore, Isabella. Never compare ladies of wealth and power to women who feed their illegitimate children by fucking dock hands and stable help."

She might have cried had Demetri not given her a threatening, cutting look and she might have been even more devastated if she weren't concentrating so hard on trying not to cry. But after almost two years under Demetri's thumb Isabella was already learning that she wasn't allowed opinions or emotions and that people in this world didn't cry, rarely laughed and never ever talked about anything other than real estate, politics, fashion, or sex - but only after a few drinks.

Isabella was sent to the finest schools, working late into the night on four languages, maths, geography, and still dancing for at least six hours a day. She went to bed every night absolutely dreamless from exhaustion and jerked herself awake at dawn every morning with the pianist in the studio below their second story apartment already warming up. Some nights Isabella slept in her training sweats and slippers either because she was too tired and sore to remove them or because leaving them on bought her two more minutes of sleep under the heavy silk and down duvet.

Now, standing on the balcony overlooking all of Paris, Isabella would actually love to be that busy again. To have _anything_ at all to do.

Demetri had gone for the afternoon out hunting with friends and Isabella had been left in the large suite practically kenneled. She took a long drag of her cigarette and watched the smoke curl like thick white ribbon from her mouth. She knew what would be coming if she were caught and what would be required before Demetri got back to rid herself of every single trace of the smoke, but right then it seemed so worth it. She'd been on edge for a week. The third week in Paris and _finally_ their last day. Isabella knew the lengthened itinerary had nothing to do with weather patterns or hunting seasons, like Demetri halfheartedly lied about, and everything to do with Edward and the fact that he couldn't just tell Isabella that she couldn't have Edward as her pianist. Isabella had threatened that she'd never dance again but Demetri had thrown his threats around as well. And his threats were leaner and meaner than Isabella's with power and money and dangerous men backing them.

_"You understand you are never to see him again outside of those walls, am I correct in assuming that? You are not to look at him in the studio much less talk. Although I can't imagine what you'd have to say to a boy like that."_

_"Probably more than you'll ever know."_

_"That's not who you are anymore and you have nothing to say to him. I have put enough money and time into your life and I demand the respect that I deserve. And if your promise is broken again then I don't think it's so rare for boys like that to go missing in dangerous times such as these."_

But even with the constant lecturing and threats clanging around in her head, Isabella's stomach was clanging louder with the iron butterflies that had been building since dawn just below her ribcage. She was going back to Moscow tomorrow morning and the first thing she was going to do was head to the studio and decide how to get Edward back.

**

After a few days of moping around the large house, Alex talked Edward into coming with him on a job he had landed. They spent four days far out in the countryside painting a barn. Just the two of them. They took food and wool blankets and slept on the hay bales at night smelling like sweat and campfire and giggling to each other right to the point where their eyes just wouldn't stay open any longer. Alex didn't force Edward to talk about Isabella and Edward didn't force Alex to explain exactly what had happened between them, not that he really wanted to talk about it anyway. During those few days Edward felt more free than he had in years. They were making good money, for them, and bathed in the cold mountain stream at the edge of the pastures. They found mushrooms on the riverbed one night and spent hours in the middle of the field naming the cows, counting the colors in the stars, staring for long mesmerized minutes as the wind rippled the grasses in moonlit sheets of aluminum.

Edward thought of Isabella every second, his mind tugging one way then another, until he finally decided that it wasn't the time to dwell on something he had no control over. He returned to the house with red paint in his hair and fresh fish on a line they had caught that morning for their friends. And his heart hurt a little less.

The next day was Monday. The day Isabella was supposed to be back and, even though Alex asked him not to, Edward walked down to Winoak Lane. He told himself he was just curious, just wanted to see if another pianist had climbed those stairs. But when he got there he found the building empty. He sat on the sidewalk long into the afternoon waiting. No one came.

He played through every scenario in his head. _She's staying in Paris a little longer. That's all_. But as the days stretched into another week his mind got the better of him. _Oh god she's dead_. Or Demetri's finally tired of her and abandoned her there. Did Isabella have money of her own? Would she be able to get back by herself?

The third week brought an entirely clipped mindset.

_Fuck her._

That's why when the knock came on the front door at the beginning of the fourth week, the furthest thing from Edward's mind was that it had anything to do with Isabella. He shrugged at Alex and went back to tying his boots, getting ready for whatever work they could find that day. Alex huffed and said something about not being the house slave and swung the door open.

"I have a message for a Mr. Edward Cullen."

"Oh yeah? And who's doing the sending? What sort of message?"

"Alex it's ok." Edward stood to see a man in uniform smiling at him. Alex leaned against the door frame, only receiving a small frown from Edward before Edward took a step onto the porch and closer to the well-dressed servant.

"I'm Edward."

"Your immediate presence is requested at 115 Winoak Lane, sir. Miss Isabella Swan is expecting you. Shall I ask the driver to wait?"

Edward's mouth fell open. He suddenly remembered the exact color of Isabella's eyes and the way the keys feel under his fingers and the way he imagined Isabella would feel under his fingers and the way Isabella's brown hair falls over her face and the way she kisses and..._oh that's right. I'm in love._

But Alex wasn't buying it.

"Hang on, you can't come marching in here _demanding_ him like he's-"

"Alex, it's alright."

"No it's not! She's gone for fucking _weeks_ and she thinks she can just snap her fingers and you'll come running after the way she treated-"

"_Alex_." Alex snapped his mouth shut and disappeared into the house so quickly that Edward could feel little whirlwinds of dust kicking up around him. He turned back to the messenger.

"Sorry. Umm...Yes. Please. I'll be out in five minutes."

"Very well, sir."

He knew Alex was in the room to the left so he went to the room to the right and told Jasper that he'd be back that afternoon. There was a small but elegant black car parked right in the front and as Edward climbed in the back he glanced up and saw eyes peeking out of at least three windows of the massive house. He smiled and waved and at least five hands waved back. He thought he might throw up as the car turned onto the street and pulled up to the curb. He was practically panting trying to supply his beating heart the oxygen it needed to make his legs carry him from the car and up the stairs, down the hall and over the threshold with the slightly chalked flooring.

He was immediately confronted with Isabella sitting in the corner on a stool waiting for him and his heart that was near rupture from the exertion suddenly stopped. He remembered something Nicolai told him on his first day. _Isabella Swan waits for no one_. Now it appeared that Isabella waited for no one but Edward Cullen. And she was waiting so fucking beautifully. As she lifted her eyes Edward mirrored the action in reverse, dropping his gaze to the space at the floor just in front of his scuffed shoes.

"I wasn't sure you'd come."

"I wasn't aware my services would be required anymore. But if they are, I need the work"

Edward's voice came across cold and he was glad as much as he was sorry. He thought back to the things Isabella had said to him the night of the ball and her being perfect and beautiful wasn't going to let her off the hook this time.

".....Oh. Well...they are. I mean if you still want to, that is."

Edward remained silent, looking at the floor trying not to let the hurt kitten uncertainty in Isabella's voice affect him.

"Edward, Nicolai will be back any second and I want to say that-"

"I trust your stay in Paris was enjoyable?"

"What...no. It was horrible but-"

"How nice it must be to be able to be bored with a city like that."

"I wasn't _bored_, I was thinking of _you_! What I told you in the music room...when I kissed-"

"_Don't_."

"But...I don't understand why-"

There was a sharp crack of a cane on the floor and Nicolai bustled into the room asking for places and silence. Edward walked to the piano and Isabella walked to the middle of the floor and to both of them it felt like they were right back at square one.

The only difference was that neither of them could remember square one hurting this badly.

**

"There's nothing to eat." Edward slammed the cupboard door, shutting in the few lone bread crumbs and leaving them for the mice. There was water left in the kettle and a used tea bag on the counter. He turned the burner on and rinsed out a mug, dropped the teabag in it and waited for the kettle to whistle.

"Here. Drink this." Edward sat on the edge of the bed and held the mug under Alex's nose.

"I don't want anything."

"I know you don't, which is why you're dehydrated. You're never going to get better if you don't take care of yourself....or allow _me_ to take care of you."

"It's cold in here," Alex pulled the wool blanket up to his chin and reached for the steaming mug. "I'm cold." Edward pressed the back of his hand to Alex's forehead. It was slimy and sizzling cold sweat on burning hot skin.

"Maybe we should call a doctor."

"Where do you know of a doctor that works for free?" Alex hissed, scalding his tongue on the liquid. Edward had to admit he was out of options. Alex fell ill so suddenly, there was no time to prepare.

One minute Edward was on his way back from the studio to tell Alex about his first meeting with Isabella and how it went, how Isabella was sitting there waiting for him, still radiating the same beauty that bowled him over that first day, and how it felt to see her again, but how he was strong and didn't give in, how difficult the new routine for the upcoming ballet was going to be and how it was going to require many long hours of practice sessions.

Edward had charged up the front steps, flinging open the screen door with the express purpose of finding Alex and telling him everything, just like he promised he always would...and found him wrestling with Jake on the living room rug with the rest of the house taking bets around them like it was a dog fight.

The next minute Alex was laying limp and lifeless on the tattered couch, raising his index finger and pleading with Jake to ease up, "Just...gimme a minute...to catch my breath, mate...fucking hell..." Alex was suddenly pale as a ghost, his bottom lip thick and swollen and purple, his white t-shirt soaked to the bone with sweat.

"Fuck!" the shriek came from Alice. "_Tanya!_ Put the kettle on, now! I'll get the towels." Tanya had nodded in agreement and was up and in the kitchen turning on the stove and filling the kettle. Jake took position at Alex's side and started talking to him too low for Edward to hear, brushing the hair off his forehead and feeling his cheeks over and over and over. "Come on, man, fight it. Don't let it get you again. You're strong."

"Alice?" She was moving like a gazelle down the hall to the small unisex bathroom and Edward had to beak into a mini-jog to catch up with her.

"Alice, look at me. What's wrong with him?"

"This is the third time this has happened this year, Edward," she answered quickly, throwing open the closet door and pulling linens down, looking at them, and throwing them back up until she found facecloths that were clean.

"You wouldn't know because you haven't been coming around as much since you got that job. I'm sorry to sound harsh but....it always starts off like this, shortness of breath, trouble breathing, then comes the non-stop coughing, then the shakes, then hot and cold flashes and he can't get out of bed and he won't eat, he stops talking...." Her voice broke and she started to cry into her trembling hands. Edward had forgotten how Alice felt for Alex...different from Tanya, who thought of him purely as a friend.

For years Alice had been secretly - and when she's drunk, _not so secretly_ - in love with Alex, consumed with him and what he was doing, _who _he was doing, what he thought about everything from the state of the union to the state of their empty refrigerator. She found happiness and comfort in the fact that he was bisexual, and even when she'd been his second and sometimes last choice by the end of the night she'd take what she could get of him. She'd take being home when he was home even if they weren't in the same room, even if Alex was sleeping, just knowing that he was in there, right over there, was enough for her.

"What is it, Alice? Tell me."

"Pneumonia. At least that's what it was the first and only time we were able to get a doctor over here to see him."

"Shit."

"The more times you get it the more it scars the tissue in the lining of your lungs and you can't keep fighting it off on your own. And he," she's hiccupping now through the tearful sobs. "He doesn't want us to worry. You know how he is. If anyone knows how he is, _you do_." Something about that last statement filled Edward with a sense of pride and duty, a sense of obligation to those who had been there for him when no one else was. He made a small promise to himself to never forget where he came from.

"I know he may have seemed fine when you two were out working...._together_," she spit. "He was supposed to be taking it easy. Painting houses and running around in the woods for days on end were not part of that prescription."

"Ahhh, the truth dragon rears its ugly head. Jealousy doesn't become you, Alice. I wasn't forcing him to do anything he wouldn't have done if I wasn't here. The only person that knows Alex better than me, is _you_."

Edward took the mug from Alex's hands, that have about as much strength in them as a newborns, and scooted himself under the covers to give him that much-needed extra body heat. He seemed so frail, it's almost too easy for Edward to get a normally bombastic Alex to comply but his defenses were down, not just down but down and out, off, non-existent and Edward easily twisted him into a position comfortable for them both. There was a pile of books at the foot of the bed, Alex's favorites that the girls thought he might like to have close by. Edward reached for the one on the top.

"Let's read a little, shall we. How's that sound? What's this one...ahh, 'Lord Jim'. I pictured you as a 'Heart of Darkness' man," Edward tried to kid around a little as though there wasn't a care in the room and just that small little lie was enough to bring him to tears, to make him feel like a deceitful pig.

"_Fuck_ Conrad and _fuck_ the relationship between Jim and Marlowe....don't tell me they didn't fuck like animals." Alex tried to laugh at his own crude joke and was immediately flung into a phlegmy coughing fit.

"Easy, easy," Edward pat him on the back until the jag subsided and Alex flopped back against the stack of pillows piled high up to the headboard.

"Hey." Under the blanket Alex placed a warm hand over Edward's. "I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad I'm here too, Alexander." There was a time when Alex was Edward's hero, the only person who was always there for him, who stood up for him, and Edward learned from him, learned from example and learned from watching with his own eyes how Alex could get what he wanted just by choosing his words carefully and distracting you with a smile and a wave of those eyelashes.

"I wish things could have turned out differently between us."

Edward felt that sinking feeling in his stomach at the meager tone of desperation in Alex's voice. The sound of struggle.

"We were happy once. Weren't we? Weren't we happy? I think of you...how you used to touch me when no one was looking...until you got comfortable with me and then it didn't matter who was in the room. We never made it through movie night, remember? As soon as the lights were off there was only you and me on the couch with the glow of the television in your eyes and you were so beautiful...you were mine..." His speech was slurring and Edward knew he was entering the stage of delirium that Alice told him would come. His head had lifelessly tilted to the side of the pillow and his eyes were open wide and staring straight ahead, vacant and all pupils.

"Alex? Alex?" Edward's cries became more frantic. "Oh god. Alice!!! Tanya!!!" Edward screamed at the door, shaking Alex lightly to bring him back. "No. No no no no no, Alex stay with me, come on Alex, don't you dare leave me..."

"...I'm so sorry, Edward, so sorry for everything. I love you. I never stopped...and I never will."

Edward hadn't been to a hospital since he'd arrived in Russia nearly two years ago. There were times when he should have gone - - the time he was jumped in the middle of the street in broad daylight and beaten mercilessly by thugs while people walked by and pretended not to notice or the case of food poisoning he picked up from eating leftovers off a shady street vendor cart. But it wouldn't have mattered anyways. Hospitals in the city wouldn't see the likes of him and his friends. What difference would it make to the world if they died? The only place for "people like them" to get medical attention was the free clinic at the far edge of town where the lines to see a doctor snaked for miles. Lucky for them, Sam was currently fucking one of the nurses who worked the night shift and, with the promise of many more passion-filled nights in the broom closet, she raided the clinic's pantry of all the necessary meds used to treat pneumonia and has delivered them in person. Sam's sluttiness could prove useful sometimes.

The boys were pacing ruts into the wooden slats of the floor panels - endlessly do-si-do'ing around each other, bumping elbows and nerves in the narrow, dimly lit hallway outside Alex's bedroom. Jake smiled weakly and close-lipped at Edward, who no longer had the energy or spirit to stand. The girls couldn't stand the silence and had retreated to the porch to smoke and cry where no one could see. Finally the door opened and Edward jumped to his feet at the ready. _News. Any news._ Paul emerged with the box full of vials and pills and bottles and a look on his face that he could have borrowed from a surgeon amputating gangrenous legs in the Civil War.

"Paul? My God..."

"He's asking for you." Paul pat Edward on the shoulder and held the door open for him. It smelled like sick and iodine and peroxide and cough medicine and mucus and salt and the scent of stale breath.

"Hey, Ally," Edward sat on the edge of the bed and held Alex's hand, which could also moonlight as a fire poker. "Paul said you're going to be just fine."

"Fuck off he did not," Alex rolled his eyes and faked a crinkled brow. "He's going to be a good doctor one day. I'm glad he let you come see me. I don't do well in this room alone."

"I'm with you....you're not alone."

"Edward? ....I want you to know something. It's extremely important. Are you listening?"

"Yes. I'm listening."

".......Since the moment I met you and every moment since then...all I ever wanted was for you to be happy." Gathering what little strength there was left in his body, Alex clamped onto the collar of Edward's shirt with both hands and pulled Edward down to his level. The sentences were being pushed out of his mouth on fragile puffs of air.

"If this dancer, _Isabella_....if Isabella makes you happy... if you have love in your heart for her...go get her...make her yours. Don't let anything stop you. Don't fuck it up like I did.....because, trust me.....you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

**

Once Edward was satisfied that Alex was sleeping peacefully and soundly and pumped full of meds, he grabbed his coat, stuffed his feet into his boots and raced out the door. If he ran fast enough, he'd only be 15 minutes late to the studio.

"Late already," Nicolai bitched, shaking his head without looking up from the sheet music that was to go along with that days lesson. He shoved the pages into Edward's chest, pushing him towards the piano.

"And only the second day. Glad to see nothing's changed."

"Fuck off, Nicolai." Edward snatched them and arranged them on the stand.

"Hey watch it. What's up your ass anyway?"

"Sorry. Nothing, it's just, not that you give a shit but ...a very good friend of mine fell ill yesterday, we were up all night with him and..."

"Is he going to be alright?" It wasn't Nicolai's voice. It was higher pitched and sweeter. Edward whipped around to find Isabella standing in the doorway, workout bag slung over her shoulder, her hair tussled and messed, cheeks pink from the wind. Edward's eyes instantly hit the floor along with the volume of his voice.

"I, uh, I don't know. I hope so....it's...."

"What'd you do this time, Swan?" Nicolai's fast to the door and in Isabella's face, examining it closely; if he had a magnifying glass he'd be using it. Isabella's eyes darted away and focused on a stain on the wall to her right. Light yellow marks were starting to purple under her jaw line and there were visible tearstains down her nose.

"Go to the washroom and clean yourself up," Nicolai's tone took a fatherly turn, which made Edward sick to his stomach. It meant means Nicolai knew what was going on. And whatever was going on, it had been going on for longer than Edward had been in the picture. Isabella nodded and dropped her bag, heading past Edward towards the back of the room, their eyes meeting briefly and Edward tried to see what Nicolai saw.

"I thought those days were over," Nicolai muttered, kicking his slipper across the yellowed wood floor.

"What days?" Edward demanded. "What do you mean?"

Nicolai sighed and ran his hands through his short wiry hair. He suddenly looked old and tired, his face drawn and creased, bags under his eyes where they'd never been before.

"Do you know who that girl is, Edward?"

"Yes it was explained to me when I started here."

"What was? That you'd be providing piano accompaniment for one of the studio's dancers? Is that how it was _explained_?"

"Actually, yes."

"Well I know this little shitbox of a ballet studio doesn't look like a space fit for one of the country's and dance community's finest performers...but that's what makes it unique and special. We don't call attention to ourselves. This is a _practice_ space. The performers who come here are not just students of the craft...they're its premiere _examples_. This place here...it's just a room. It could be anywhere, in a dirt field, in a cement parking lot. All you need are four walls and a floor. It's the _people_ inside it that matter. And that girl in there..._s__he's_ the one that matters the most. Do you understand now?"

"What's that got to do with...?"

"Where do you think the money you're paid with comes from? Do you think I _grow it_? Well, technically, I suppose I do. …It comes from _her_ and the other dancers and the jobs they're able to book as a result of the work they do here. Their names bring more names to the studio and that is how we survive. Are you getting this? Demetri has connections in the business and around the world. He takes care of Isabella. Whatever happens between them behind closed doors is none of my..._our..._business."

"We can begin now," Isabella shushed across the floor in her slippered feet, her face damp and glistening from the handfuls of cold water she threw over it.

"Wonderful, let's get to work. Places, please. Isabella, first position, Edward, first measure, we're in G."

**

Edward walked quickly down the corridor with his head down, music tucked under his arms, counting his steps until he reached the door. Isabella was standing at the front counter, placing the phone back on its cradle.

"Edward," she said. "Brilliant playing tonight. As usual."

".......? You too...I mean, you've got the routine down perfectly already. No surprise there." He smiled and continued walking past. _Four...three...two..._

"Wait."

_shit._

"The car...my ride isn't coming for another hour," Isabella tried to hide her annoyance at the tone of Demetri's voice when he called to inform her the car would be delayed, like she wouldn't or shouldn't mind that she was the last errand on the list. "Would you want to have a drink with me somewhere?"

"Sure. ......wait, no, I can't. I have to get back to…my..."

"Right, your friend. What happened to him?"

"They say it's pneumonia."

"My brother had that once."

"You have a brother? …What's his name?"

"Andrew."

"Where does he live?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him in...six years."

"Why not?"

"Our mother died...and..."

"Why are you with him?" Edward's almost positive that someone else just said that or that he'd been momentarily possessed by a cheeky demon.

Isabella felt Demetri's hand of influence press down on her, the years of repetition and consistent brainwashing near impossible to overcome. _Push your feelings aside Isabella. You control them. They do not control you._

"You wouldn't understand."

"Hmmph. Yeah. Maybe not. You know what I DO understand? I understand bruises. And I know that _love_ doesn't put them there. _Hate _does. Hate and jealousy and the maniacal inner-workings of a rage-filled soul. Does he apologize to you after he's done? Or does he make you believe that you deserved it?"

_answer me_

"Does he make you lie to others about how you got them? That you're clumsy and accident-prone? How about that you have a mind of you own and you DON'T. NEED. HIM!!"

"ENOUGH!!!" Isabella bellowed. "You don't understand what he's done for me!!! You don't know where I come from! You _think_ you do. You think you've got me all figured out. Snooty rich dancer from a posh upbringing living in the penthouse like a queen with a crown, some hard-knock life, eh? ...but you have NO IDEA!!"

"Then tell me. Tell me, _Isabella_!! Tell me why you act the way you do if it's not the way you are!! Tell me why you had your tongue in my mouth. Tell me why he hits you."

A thunderous silence rolled through the room creating a vacuum of pressure that Edward could feel in his eardrums. They're vibrating lightly and when Isabella breaks it, it hurts.

"I had my tongue in your mouth because I wanted it to be there....and he hits me because he can. There, happy now?"

A smug, self-satisfied grin that she learned from the master spread across her face. As if that would be enough to appease Edward. It's a cop-out and Edward knew it and the mere fact that Isabella would laugh off the abuse she receives from her _boyfriend_ burned a hole into Edward's side.

"Do you want to know what _I think_, Isabella? Well I'll tell you anyway. I think that's _bullshit_. He _hits you_ because you let him. And our tongue was in my mouth for the same reason...because _I_ let it be there."

The iced words slapped Isabella across the face harder than Demetri ever could, but she didn't have a second to think about it because Edward had yoked her by the back of her neck, his long fingers scissoring through her soft brown curls while Isabella's arms hung at her sides, and he was giving her a mouthful of his powerful set of lips and warm spongy tongue, pressing and sliding them against Isabella's until Isabella forgot how to breathe and fell limp in his strong arms.

Then as quickly as they began kissing, it was over and Edward was pushing through the chiming door that signaled their time was up...for tonight.

* * *


	10. Time to push ahead

S. meyer owns twilight

* * *

**Time to push ahead**

_If you really want to learn anything you have to put yourself out_

Alex wasn't getting any better. And if he was he was doing it so slowly that not even Edward's constant and intent vigil was picking it up. He was asleep more than he was awake. His lungs sounded like a small truck idling and his proud smirk hadn't been seen in days.

Three days in fact.

And Edward hadn't gone into the studio in two.

He sent Alice to tell Isabella and Nicolai that he was sorry, he really was, but he just couldn't leave his friend. Alice came back and said she embellished a bit with a few words like _last hours_ and _it could be any time_ because Nicolai had thrown up his hands in frustration. Edward didn't ask how Isabella reacted. He only nodded and looked back into Alex's pale sleeping face that seemed to hollow by the second more and more as the sickness dug holes in the fevered earth under his cheekbones.

But Alice told him anyway.

"The girl...What's her name?"

"Isabella."

"She looked worried, Edward. She honestly did. And as I was leaving I heard her sticking up for you. She said you were a good friend and a hard worker and if you were missing rehearsal then it must be serious. Then as I was leaving, she asked for the address of the house and I-"

"Tell me you didn't."

"Well...I did." Edward shook his head in frustration and Alice immediately puffed out her chest in defense. "I didn't see any reason not to!"

"Because there are a lot of dangerous people around her! People who don't consider the likes of us an asset to their beautiful city and all it takes is one slip before the police will be around cleaning house! Do you remember why we had to leave the last house? Do you remember what happened to Seth? And what set _that_ off, huh? Do you remember? _Well I do!_ It was because someone opened their mouth _one time_ to the wrong person."

Jasper was now standing in the doorway with wide eyes watching Edward tremble and Alice's eyes tear. He stepped forward and gently led Edward from the room. Alice walked to the window and stared out it like there an armed force could storm up the back alley at any second. She remembered that night. The night when they were woken by pounding on the door and flashlights in their eyes. They were drug from their beds by men with clubs and pushed out onto the cold street, falling to their knees, grasping for each other with hands still clumsy from sleep. There was so much shouting and chaos that they didn't hear Seth being beaten to death after he was pulled from the fence he was trying to scale to escape. He was only sixteen and none of them had ever gotten over it. They knew the dangers of living in groups like this. They were considered thieves and pickpockets and as much a threat to society as wild dogs. And just like wild dogs they were feared most when they packed together.

It took them several months to find each other again. They had been carted off in all directions, sent to every corner of the country and dropped off in small towns, at farmhouses where they were expected to work as servants in return for food and the hope that they wouldn't freeze to death in the cold Russian winters. But they all came back, migrating like fragile birds back to the warmth of each other. This house simply fell into their laps. Jasper's father, who never had an ounce of interest in him, finally gave into a deep parental guilt on his death bed. And although the grand house he owned in the market district went to his daughter, a school teacher with as many children as most people have teeth and an inherited disinterest in her brother, the large drafty falling-apart house on the outskirts of the outskirts of the slums, went to Jasper. The deed sits in a metal fireproof box always in the middle of the dining table where most people have flowers or candles. They don't fall into the trap that it keeps them safe, the house could be taken and burned with no reason needed, but seeing it there at least helps them sleep. And the carved wooden horse always beside it helps them remember Seth.

"You can't take care of him if you don't take care of yourself." Jasper's gentle voice woke Edward from his thoughts and he leaned back against the wall behind him suddenly feeling like his knees might give way. "When was the last time you slept?"

"A few hours ago."

"For no longer than a few minutes, I assume. …I know you're worried. We _all _are. But if you don't start sleeping and eating and..._living_...then you'll be in the bed next to him within the week. Who'll look after Alex if you're sick as well? Because I, for one, am not spending every waking second worrying over you two."

Edward glanced up and saw a soft smile and a mischievous twinkle in Jasper's eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but tears drew a lump in his throat. He was exhausted and the tears seemed to come so easily and without real cause these last few days. His stomach rolled with hunger.

"It's alright, Edward, I know. You'll sleep in my bed tonight and I promise I'll stay with Alex. If he asks for you I'll come get you. You have my word. Now go and have some tea. I managed to bring home a few scones and apples this morning and you have to eat. Tomorrow I want you to go back to your brother's house. It's your off day at the studio, right? Go home and get some sleep and eat. Alex will be fine without you for a night. You can come back after work the next day."

A few scones. A few apples. It seemed like the most food they'd had in the house at one time in months. It seemed like a king's feast but there still was never enough. Edward nodded because he was too tired to argue and hobbled down the dull wooden stairs skipping over the very last one that everyone knew squealed like a dying cat.

He heated the kettle and took a few bites of a scone, a few of an apple, while the water heated, but the whistle told him it was time to stop and he left the rest. Everyone was hungry.

**

The next morning a knock at the door pulled Edward from a deep sleep. At first he didn't know what was waking him. He rolled to his back and listened so hard that his ears throbbed. There it was again. A heavy knocking at the door. Throwing the covers off he collided with Jake in the hallway and without words they sprinted down the stairs having a wordless argument with their eyes about who should answer it.

Edward cracked the door but no one was there. He cracked it a little more before swinging it open.

He was just about to swing it shut when Jake caught the corner with his foot.

"Edward, look."

At their feet was a polished wooden crate and in that wooden crate appeared to be food. Not just food. It was as if someone had robbed the picnic basket of the gods. Just on the surface they could see held bread, eggs, a few bottles of milk, what looked like the corner of an entire ham.

"What the...Where did this come from?"

With the other members of the house soon pressing their back to peek Edward's blood ran cold and his heart swelled as realization swept over him like a cold wind. _She asked for the address of the house_.

"Don't touch it. Send it back. We don't need it."

"Are you insane?! Edward, that's enough food to feed us for weeks!" The girls were reaching down trying to heft its weight into the air. Edward took one hand and pushed it back to the ground.

"You have no idea where it came from."

"What's _wrong_ with you? Do you think it's poisoned?? I'll take my chances if it's all the same to you. I'd rather die of poisoning with a full stomach than hunger."

"We've never accepted charity and we're not going to start now."

"So you'll steal but you won't-"

"That was _one_ time!"

The bickering was interrupted when Jake pulled a white folded piece of paper from the edge of the crate. Everyone stared while Jake read the name on top and then held it out to Edward between his two fingers. Mystery solved. Even though Edward had never seen Isabella's handwriting he knew the second he saw _Edward_ scrawled on the surface in that prep-school-created but still girly, perfect script who the mystery sender was.

"Are you gonna stare at it all day or read it?"

He turned his back to the others so they couldn't see the thin, elegant paper shaking in his hands as he unfolded it like it could shatter to pieces.  
_  
Good morning Edward,_

Send it back, right?

I knew you were going to say that.

But I also know that a friend is sick and probably as hungry as you looked the last time I saw you. So don't consider it charity. Consider it an advance in pay. I know what it is to be proud but I also know what it is to be hungry. You told me once that you would do anything for me. If that's true then I want you and your friends to go to bed tonight with a full stomach.

Please.

Yours,  
Isabella

He read it three times through, his eyes widening every time he passed over the word _Yours._

Yours, Isabella.

"Well??"

He sighed heavily, reeling at the gesture of kindness. He let a smile creep up his face.

"It's...from a friend. It's ok."

The whoops from all around him surely woke the neighborhood and it took three of them to lift the crate and carry it into the kitchen. They crowded around it on bony knees like children at Christmas and started pulling things out, smelling, showing every item around like treasure. Milk, eggs, bread, cheese, ham, bars of chocolate, colorful tins of hundreds of tea bags, coffee, pears, apples, canisters of soup still warm from the cooking pot, butter, and more. Jake held a pineapple in front of his eyes murmuring that he'd _"never even seen one of these before_" and was on his feet scrounging in every drawer for a knife. When they got to the bottom, tucked away in a corner was a medicine bottle. Jasper snatched it up and turned the label around. The first word he saw was penicillin and he had to wipe tears out of his eyes before he saw the name of the original owner.

_Prescribed to Isabella Swan. 500 mg. Twice a day for ten days._

Without alerting Edward he stood and walked over to where Jake had attacked the leathery skin of the pineapple. _Look at the name_. Everyone in the room was shown the bottle before Jasper walked over to the stove. Edward was watching the kettle with his bottom lip pulled into his mouth. He grabbed Edward's hand and put the bottle in it, closing Edward's fingers around it.

Jasper leaned in to his ear and whispered…

"Tell your friend, _Ms. Swan_, that we thank her from the bottom of our hearts. …I do believe she's saved our Alex."

The sounds of rejoicing filled the room. Pots and pans banged that hadn't been touched in over a year. The air filled with the smells of a real breakfast feast. All the arguing had come to an abrupt end and Edward stood in the middle of it all, staring down at the bottle in his hand, even more resolute than ever that the woman he loved was quite possibly the most beautiful and unpredictable soul he had ever known.


	11. God is a woman

Thanks for reading :)

S. Meyer owns twilight

* * *

**God is a woman**

After putting soup and a pill down Alex's throat, a kiss on his forehead and another on his cheek, Edward hugged everyone in the house and walked back to his brother's for the first time in days. The walk seemed better without hunger weighing down his limbs and he even found himself whistling his favorite part of the new piece they had been working on. The music was beautiful and he loved each stanza as if they were his children. But it was his favorite because of the few measures where Isabella dropped to the floor on her back, arched her spine deliciously off the wood into the most beautiful curve before rolling to her stomach and rising, as if pulled by a string ass first, before the rest of her body followed. The first time he saw the routine his fingers fumbled and he swore that when Isabella heard the missed note and peeked at him upside down from in between her thighs that she held the position a second longer than she should have. Dancing makes Isabella bold. She said and did things in the heat of rehearsal that she never would have done at any other time without the endorphins rushing through her bloodstream.

Even now as he entered his brother's flat he flushed, feeling the inevitable stirring between his legs. He couldn't seem to get it out of his head. Maybe the nourishment was allowing him to feel lust again. It was the only conclusion he could come to and it was only a matter of seconds before the screaming erection in his trousers made it difficult to walk.

He checked through the rooms to find them empty. As soon as he knew he was alone, he collapsed onto his small pallet and shoved his hand down his pants, grasping his hard cock in a long-fingered fist. As he started pulling, stroking, fingering the head, he closed his eyes and it wasn't his hand anymore. He reached to the shelf above his bed with his free hand and pulled the black glass mask down and over his face as his pace quickened. It wasn't going to take long for him to come. Images flooded his mind as he moaned unrestrained into the chill dusty air. How his cock would look pushed through the lips of that beautiful mouth that seemed made for fucking. Submissive and shy on her knees while he thrusted deep into her throat, spilling over her tongue...

_Yours,  
Isabella_

_All mine. _

_The things I could do to her if only that were true._

He came sharply in his hand, his eyes squeezing shut with the wave that pulled a gasped curse from his mouth and left him panting into his pillow.

It began to rain in the late afternoon and by darkness there were storms rattling the windows of the house. Rosalie and Emmett came home soaked through to the bone and pulled Edward into a tremendous hug in the doorway. The wind was blowing the downpour straight through to the wall on the other side of the room. They kissed his face, told him they'd missed him and asked him all about Alex. They sat at the table to the soup Edward had ladled into bowls. Everyone at the artist house insisted Edward take a few things home with him because Emmett and Rosalie sent plates to everyone there whenever they have enough to spare.

"He'll be fine, thank god." He kissed Rosalie's cheek and slid a chocolate bar into her lap. "It seems we have a guardian angel. ...She _looks_ like one anyway."

"The girl that invited you to the ball?"

Emmett questioned Edward with his eyes and a small frown. Edward hadn't told them everything about what happened the night of the ball but they knew he hadn't been 100% himself since.

"Well...yes and no. Maybe."

Rosalie's eyebrows disappeared beneath her bangs but as she parted her lips there was a slight, almost timid knock at the door. All eyes at the table skittered from one face to another.

_Are we expecting anyone?_

Edward was the first one to his feet. It could be Alex. Jasper had promised to fetch him if he took a turn for the worst.

Edward slung the door open. There, with hair hanging in her eyes and water running in tiny rivers down her face, stood a very wet Isabella. She was the last person on earth he expected to see, but just because he didn't expect it didn't make it any less real. He stared with his mouth hanging open for so long that Rosalie pushed him aside and drug Isabella out of the rain, sending Emmett down the hall for a towel.

Edward and Isabella stood staring at each other while items were being fetched around them. Anytime they saw each other in a new environment they would watch one another intently to see if there had been any change. _Does she look more beautiful here or there? In moonlight or sunlight? Wet or dry? _

"I'm sorry to intrude. _Terribly _sorry. I just-" Isabella's words were cut off by Rosalie toweling roughly through her hair and placing dry clothes into her hands.

"Now now, you have _nothing_ to be sorry for. I'm assuming you're a friend of Edward's? His guardian angel perhaps?"

Edward glared at Rosalie, flushed red, and rolled his eyes.

"No matter," Rose smiled. "The bathroom is down the hall and to the left. Emmett and I were just about to retire to our room, so you and Edward can have the kitchen to yourselves. …Edward, put the kettle on. She'll catch her death."

"You're pregnant," Isabella observed sweetly admiring Rose's swollen belly.

"Ha, yes, very," Rose breathed heavily.

Isabella didn't have time to thank her for her kindness before she was tugged down the hall. She could only throw Edward a puzzled look over her shoulder as she disappeared into the bathroom.

Rosalie was smiling so big Edward thought her face might crack. "Well she certainly is beautiful. You were right about that."

"Rosalie." Emmett's tender warning only made her smile bigger but she lowered her voice to a whisper.

"She's a dancer you say? She has a body to _die_ for, from what I could see. But I'm sure Edward has seen much more and can fill us in on all the details later-"

"_Rose!_"

"What?"

Emmett motioned for her to join him in the bedroom and the door clicked shut as the bathroom door clicked open. Edward didn't have time to prepare for her return. He hadn't figured out whether he was going to sit or stand or what he was going to say before Isabella was standing right in front of him. Dressed in his clothes. Old faded ripped trousers that were two sizes too small for Edward but that Rosalie sometimes wore when she cleaned house – before she got pregnant - and a black shirt worn down to the softest thinness. Her hair was damp and waving perfectly around her face and down the back of her neck and her head lowered slightly, her shoulders slightly hunched.

"I'm sorry. I really am. I didn't know where else to go and...That's a lie. ...I wanted to talk to you."

When she glanced up to gauge Edward's reaction to her confession Edward saw the red hand print faintly on her cheek. He stepped forward before he lost courage and turned Isabella's head at her jaw.

"Edward it's not what you think."

"You mean it's _not_ the imprint of Demetri's wrath on your face? Because I have eyes, ya know. Pretty good ones at that. Unless you have _two_ abusive boyfriends but I really can't see Demetri letting anyone else touch you."

He said this as his fingertips gingerly moved across Isabella's face. He caught her eyes and blushed, dropping his hand and coughing nervously.

"No I mean...Well it _is_. But I stood up to him. Just like you told me too. That's what I came to tell you. He hit me and I told him I was leaving and I did. I just...walked out. I told him I didn't know when I'd be back." Isabella's eyes were sparkling in the low light of the kitchen and she allowed one corner of her mouth to quirk up in a smile that Edward could tell she was trying to restrain.

"I still can't believe it. I've never ever done anything like that before, but I remembered what you said. About that not being love. When I told him that, he hit me again. I was so angry and I could hear your voice in my head and all I could think about was...you. ...Anyway I guess that's it. That's why I came. Um...thanks for the clothes."

Isabella was nervously rambling because Edward hadn't said anything. No _good job_. No _congratulations_. Nothing that Isabella expected. He walked to the table and pulled out two chairs.

"Sit. Please."

Isabella sat and Edward sat directly beside her but turned in his chair so their knees were brushing and he gestured to the pot of soup with his eyes but Isabella shook her head.

He sighed and gazed intensely into her eyes. "Isabella, I want to thank you for what you sent to the house. I haven't seen everyone that happy in months. Maybe a year. It was the most..._thoughtful_ thing anyone has ever done for me."

"I'm sure that's not-"

"It _is_. You've surely saved my friend's life and I swear to you I'll find a way to pay you back somehow, if it takes me my entire life."

"I think you're doing a pretty good job of it right now. Friends help each other, right?"

_Friends?_

It was the first time he'd heard Isabella say the word, especially in reference to him.

"I could be sleeping out in the rain right now but I'm not. I'm here with you, because you took the time to tell me that I don't deserve what he does to me. ...He's the only relationship I've ever had with another person, with the exception of my mother and brother. I've never had friends, really. ...No. Not _really_. Not ever. I've _never_ had a real friend. I guess I just couldn't see how fucked up it all was."

Her voice hitched and just as Edward started to see her pull herself up and put on that strong face that she hid behind, he hooked a finger under her chin and lifted her face into the moonlight streaming through the window, studying it closely until Isabella blushed.

"Do you ever smile?"

"What do you mean? I smile all the time."

"No. You don't. It never quite reaches your eyes. You do it all the time, you're right. But not really. I've seen you smile at bureaucrats because Demetri expects you too. I've seen you smile at Demetri because you feel that's your duty. You smile on stage to a screaming crowd because that's what they want. But you never smile just for _you_. ...Are you afraid?"

Isabella laughed nervously and pulled her head from Edward's fingers and his eyes boring into her soul.

"Afraid of smiling?"

"Afraid of showing anyone any _real _piece of yourself."

"....I smile at you."

A sweet grin broke out on Edward's face and Isabella ducked her eyes, obviously embarrassed at any confession she had allowed to slip, however coded it seemed to be.

"I wanted to come back. From Paris. He kept us there because I think he was afraid that...that I was becoming...attached...to you."

"_Attached_?" The grin was still on Edward's face. This sweet, stuttering girl trying to express any sort of feelings was the most endearing thing he'd ever seen.

"Attached. Yes. ...God _no_, that's not a very appealing word, now is it? Um...maybe.............I just really like you?"

She cringed and Edward's mouth fell open before he laughed out loud, covering his mouth with his hand, and that's when it happened.

Isabella smiled at him. The most dazzling smile he'd ever seen. A real one that lit up the chocolate depths of her eyes like fresh satin. "Is that a question?"

She laughed with him and reached forward, brushing her hand slightly along Edward's knee.

"I'm...not really sure what it was. It's true though."

"I really like you too. And you should smile like that more. It's breathtaking."

The kiss was slower than it had ever been. Neither of them really initiated it. They met in the middle and took the time to taste and play and learn the exact shape of each other's lips and alignment of teeth and length of tongue. It was intense but for some reason they both decided to keep it light and when they pulled away with Isabella's bottom lip slipping from between Edward's they were still smiling and keeping their foreheads pressed together.

"I should get back."

"You could stay."

"I can't"

"I know."

**

It was approaching midnight and the glow from the fire was the only light they needed. Sitting on the floor in front of the blaze was the best rest their legs could ever ask for and the heat from the flames could keep them warm for a fortnight. The left side of Edward's face and the right side of Isabella's were beet red and burning from the sparks shooting up and out of the logs but what did they expect...they were sitting so close to it, Indian style with their knees touching and their hands connected running thumbs along thumbs while they looked infinitely into each others eyes and just...held on.

Even in Edward's thin tee, Isabella was sweating. Delicate beads were forming on her forehead and every once in a while one would roll down her nose. Edward had lost count of how many he'd caught on the tip of his index finger and how many times he'd licked the tip of that same finger, savoring the saltiness that Isabella had created.

His legs had long fallen asleep but neither of those two predicaments warranted any movement that might compromise their current situation. The house was silent. Rosalie and Emmett had been asleep for hours and the cat was out chasing mice somewhere. The flickering cracks and burps from the fire were louder than their words, drowning out their whispers. Edward had also lost count of the number of kisses he'd stolen by having Isabella lean in closer to repeat herself.

_I'm sorry, I didn't hear that, come closer, say it again_.

If only the pesky clock on the wall would stop reminding them that time did not stand still for anyone...even for two people in love, one with nothing to lose, the other with everything.

"You're going back to him, aren't you?" Edward asked above the crackling so he didn't have to repeat such an odious thought.

Isabella wiped her hand down her nose and over her mouth, collecting a handful of sweat beads that Edward would never taste.

"I have to. It's too dangerous for me to be here. I shouldn't have come at all, I just - I had to see you. And there's a good chance I was followed...he knows your address from the studio. I don't want to put you or your family in danger, Edward."

"You think I'm in danger?" Edward's naivety upset Isabella more than the fact that she had to leave. It revealed to her that Edward was indeed vulnerable, susceptible to Demetri's wrath and vindictive streak, his ruthlessness and lack of mercy.

"You need only remind yourself of what he does to me to imagine what he's capable of doing to you. Except in your case, it will be worse, because he has no use for you; there is nothing he needs from you and nothing you could do for him. Therefore it would mean nothing to him if you vanished forever. You understand now why he gives me only superficial bruises and cuts? Nothing that could harm my joints or limbs or keep me from dancing. After all, who would pay to see a broken dancer limp around onstage?"

"...It's sickening. There has to be something we can do."

"We? Oh no. You are to do nothing. If anything were to happen to you I don't know what I....well, let's not think about that. I will concentrate on my dancing, like I always do. And that will get me through, like it always has. It's my escape; it's there when there's nothing else."

Isabella paused and looked into the fire slowly burning down to its last embers.

"And then again, there are times when it's not all bad, when there are measures of peace, when he's quite gentle and caring...and those are the times when I realize how lucky I am...how I could be...how I could have ended up..."

"Like me?" Edward interrupted without anger. "Well you and I must have very different definitions of pleasure and pain."

"I doubt they're all that different." Isabella grinned, reaching in and placing a kiss on Edward's sweaty upper lip.

"And what am I to do? Sit and watch you work every day and know that the thanks you get is a slap across the face?"

"And play. ...You'll play for me. And I'll dance for you and that's how it will be."

"But...you said you like me."

"I do. I _more_ than like you...which is why I must go."

"How can you go back to that? Back to him? Knowing at any moment...that he could..." Edward ran his hand lightly down Isabella's cheek, barely making contact with the light peach fuzz of her supple skin. "I can't stand knowing that he hurts you."

"I made an agreement."

"What kind of agreement?"

"He agreed that you could be my pianist, full-time _and_ onstage during the performances, if I agreed never to see you, never to talk to you, never to talk about you, nothing..."

"You talk about me?"

"...and I'm definitely not to see you outside of the studio."

Isabella took Edward's shaking hand from her face and pressed her lips into his warm, moist palm, nosing around and kissing tenderly along the lifelines, running her tongue along the deep groove of the center.

"It has to be this way. For now at least......until I figure something else out. In the meantime I have the show to think about. I have to concentrate on the show. The performance can't suffer."

The sound of an engine idling in the driveway disrupted the innuendo-filled moment and sent Isabella to her feet and Edward bounded to the window. He pulled aside the flimsy lace curtains that Rosalie handmade and poked his nose to the window.

"There's a car outside. A black sedan," Edward turned from the window to face Isabella, who was standing in the middle of the room with the blood visibly draining from his face.

"It's just idling there with the lights off."

Isabella crossed the room and headed to the door without stopping.

"I better go. Stay inside. I mean it, Edward. Don't come out. Don't follow me, even if I don't come back."

Before her hand turned the knob, it pulled Edward by the waistband and lips found lips with closed eyes. Sucking breaths mingled with whispers between them continued from the floor that only they understand. Isabella clamped a hand on either side of Edward's head, at his temple, and pressed their foreheads together so Edward could feel her nod _it's going to be alright_. Edward nodded back and watched from the window as the faint tint of the moon in the distant horizon threw Isabella's silhouette across the dirt driveway.

The driver's side window lowered as Isabella approached and she exhaled when Maxwell's face appeared behind it.

"Did he send you?" she asked.

"No. He hasn't left his study since your...disagreement. And he doesn't know I'm gone."

Isabella smiled at her only friend - if the definition of a friend was someone who picked you up and droped you off, opened the door and then closed it for you, took you everywhere and back again, and who came to get you after your boyfriend had hit you. Isabella knew basically nothing about Maxwell except that his name was Maxwell and that he had a spotless driving record. Does he like to be called Max for short? Isabella wouldn't know. Does he have a family, a wife, a husband, children? Has he ever seen Isabella dance? Unlikely, unless it was through the window while he waited. All these thoughts were running through Isabella's head while she vowed to make sure Maxwell got a pair of tickets to her next show. One for him and...one for whoever the fuck he hung out with.

"Ma'am...You have to come back."

Isabella looked towards the light coming from the front window of the house and smiled at Edward's face peering out. She waved weakly to let him know there was no danger and then she turned back to Maxwell.

"....Yes. I know." Without another look she opened the rear door and slipped inside, knowing if she were to take another look up at Edward she'd never go. She quickly slumped down in the leather interior, almost all the way down to her shoulders so she couldn't see the house out of the tinted windows as the car headed down the driveway out of sight.


	12. I'm your teacher

Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.

I think this is the chapter many of you have been waiting for :)

* * *

**_I'm your teacher, not your baby-sitter_**

"She fucking did _what_??!!!" Alex roared, slamming the refrigerator door shut with all his force, which wasn't much but which induced yet another coughing fit. He held onto the counter top for support while he struggled to get his breath back.

"Hey, hey, easy now," a concerned Edward was immediately at his side, slinging an arm over his shoulder and lugging Alex back towards the bedroom. "You've only just begun to get well. No over the top emotions from you, y'here?"

"Fuck that," Alex blarghed. "She comes all this way to see you, in the _pouring rain_ no less, and then fucks off when her _driver_ comes calling?"

Alex toppled over onto the mattress, his face smushed into a pillow from the way Edward dropped him, and flopped over on his back in time to give Edward the finger, laughing so hard he started wheezing like a sick puppy. "Why bother coming at all? What did she get out of it besides a pair of your holey trousers? Unless she gets off on that kind of thing."

"Fuck off, she said some really sweet things. She told me she likes me."

"Hey,_ I_ like you, but you don't see me walking three miles in the freezing fucking rain when I could just tell you tomorrow in lesson. Why the fucking rush over?"

"Her bastard fucking boyfriend hit her again."

Alex's silent eyes poured into Edward's, leaving words or remarks unnecessary. Edward sighed and paced the foot of the bed, hands in hair.

"I know. I know, alright, _I fucking know_. Nothing but trouble, I know. But it doesn't matter if that's all she is, Ally. It doesn't change anything. I still love her."

"Must be. You haven't even fucked her yet." Alex reached for a pack of cigarettes that he had stashed away before everyone in the house tried to take them away from him.

"Hey...You think this Demetri's the only one who's ever been inside her? That would _technically_ make her a virgin if she let's you go down on her, eh? Hmm..." Alex lit up a cigarette as he pondered the ridiculous thought.

"Where'd you get those?! Give 'em here!" Edward tried to no avail to get them out of Alex's grasp.

"Lemme have a goddamn ciggie if I'm gonna die. Christ. At least I'll enjoy the few hours I've got left." Alex took a loooong drag that Edward could hear stick to the mucus in his lungs and he cringed while Alex smiled proudly at his win.

"Alright, back to this lady's ass, cuz I know you've thought about this long and hard. How much longer til you get in her? Cuz you are an excellent fuck...I must say...I've absolutely _destroyed you_ when you've let me, right? I mean, let's be honest..."

"Alright enough, I get the point. Jeziz." Edward rolled his eyes, loving every minute of knowing that Alex was well enough to be lewd again.

"I just want to be with her, Ally. I don't care how or where or when, as long as it's any way at all." And for a moment Edward thought Alex had gone mute again, that he was taking another turn for the worst, because speechlessness was not a problem Alex encountered often.

But he was back and taking another long drag, exhaling contemplatively. "If I ever meet this lucky gal, I'm going to give her a good walloping for putting you through all this, Edward."

"I know you will. And that's why I love you, too."

**

The next day's class was brief and hurried. Isabella was ten minutes late which meant that Nicolai was pissed and pacing and Edward was at the piano and waiting. When she finally arrived it was bags down, no hello's, shoes kicked off, slippers pulled on and laced up, five minutes of stretches, a quick warm-up, a run through of the scene, _no time for the routine with Emily and Abby, let's just go through the solo bit at the end and we'll have you off_.

Edward opened his mouth to ask Nicolai what the rush was but got a look that said _shut up mind your business and play_. So that's what he did and when the piece was done Isabella was untying her slippers, pulling on her shoes, pushing clothes in the bag, a nod to Nicolai before leaving and she was out the door and gone.

Over an hour early.

Edward tried to take the punch to the chest like a man but the feelings were too similar to the ones that followed him home from the ball. In fact they were the exact same ones.

He didn't take his normal route home that evening. Instead he walked the crowded city streets, watching people go about the minutia of their pointless daily lives, thinking about all the things Alex said, thinking about what Isabella said last night and about what just happened at the studio, wondering if something was wrong and why Isabella had to leave so suddenly.

Edward thought about it so much that somehow he ended up in front of Isabella's building as the steeple bell rang in midnight.

The upstairs master suite that included the master bedroom, the master bath, two walk-in closets (one for Demetri, one for Isabella), the dressing room and the sitting room, was lit at that hour only by a string of lights that ran along the perimeter of the floor. It was all that was needed to provide illumination should one have to use the toilet in the middle of the night...or see their way through should they be sneaking in from the outside.

Edward thanked his mother for his 20/20 vision and his father for his nimble frame as he maneuvered his way through the bottom level of the penthouse and up the grand staircase to the top floor. He stopped at the top of the landing and took a moment to catch his breath and still his pounding heart. Any moment he could be set upon by a chambermaid or a butler or worse...security. The French doors were not closed all the way so it took only a slight click of the latch to open them, and he was inside.

Inside Isabella's bedroom. Where Isabella slept. And fucked. And got fucked.

He made his way through the sitting room, mouth agape at the luxury of the furniture and decoration but he knew that now was not the time to admire. Before he had the time to prepare, he had entered the master bedroom. He would have been able to tell even if he couldn't see the massive four-poster king-sized bed in front of him. Because it smelled like Isabella and candles and sex. Edward could stand there for hours and stare at the small lump on the left side, swallowed and draped in blankets and a thick comforter, but it started to move and, what was more, a sneeze set upon him and blew his cover completely, sending the lump sitting straight up.

"Who's there!!? Tell me who you are and what you want this instant!!" Isabella's eyes squinted in the low-light at the figure standing at the foot of the bed.

"_Edward?_ Is that - - Is that _you_?? What are you doing here?"

"...I'm sorry, I'm so sorry to have startled you.......I heard Nicolai say that Dem-.....that _he_ was going out of town on business for a few days...but that you were staying behind to practice for the show and..."

"That's right. He is. And I am."

"....right..."

"But that doesn't explain what you're doing here," Isabella pulled the chain the the crystal lamp on the dresser and her head was surrounded by a halo of white light.

"I'm sorry. You're right. Please don't call the police. I'll leave," he couldn't turn his body around fast enough, the thought of being handcuffed and thrown into the back of an unmarked van that was used to transport criminals of all kinds - it didn't matter what you had done - to jail, prison, an internment camp never to be seen or heard from again, maybe he'd be lucky enough to be allowed a visitor once every six months through a plate glass window for five minutes, Jasper would come first, maybe Paul but not Jake and definitely not Sam or Alex, what could they possibly find to say in the time alloted? And they'd cry, too, and Edward wouldn't want to see them cry.

"I don't want you to leave. I _want_ you...to _tell_ me...what you're _doing_ here."

"You left so suddenly tonight, I thought that maybe something was wrong, that you were ill or...hurt..or...something..."

"I'm fine. Demetri left this evening for a business trip. He'll be gone for several days and wanted to see me before he left.. to...to go over things."

"Is this his bed as well?"

"It is."

"....Maybe we could go into the front room..."

"Does it make you uncomfortable to know that he sleeps here...with me?"

"Yeah. A little." 

___FUCK.__ What the fuck was that?? What happened to confidence and strength?_ Last night they were on an equal, level playing field and now....now he was behaving like the stuttering piano boy.

"Alright. Then we'll go outside." Isabella pulled the covers off, exposing her perfect body clad in just a long cream-colored nightshirt. She reached for a silk robe on the hook by the bed and slid her feet into satin slippers. She walked to the doorway where Edward was standing, staring, finding it near impossible to fathom that this was the same woman who was wearing his raggedy clothes and sitting on a dingy bare floor in front of a soot-covered fireplace just 24 hours ago.

"I thought you wanted to go into the other room?" Isabella asked, maybe an inch, tops, from the tip of Edward's nose.

"That was before I watched you get out of that bed."

"So you've changed your mind?"

"Yes. About alot of things." Edward felt his boldness returning as quickly as the heaviness in his trousers.

".....How's your friend ___?"

"Alexander."

"Right. Alexander. How is he?"

"Better. Thanks to you." Hearing Isabella say Alex's name, it was as if Alex was sending him a signal.

_Go get her. Make her yours_.

"Edward?"

"Yuh?"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're here. I'm always glad to see your face. But, um...how the fuck did you get in here and why didn't you tell me you were coming? I would have let you in."

Edward felt the hardness of his arousal grow and tighten inside the confines of his pants at the sound of the word 'fuck' hissing through of Isabella's supple mouth.

Filth out of purity.

He knew he was done for.

"I only just gathered up the nerve to come over here about an hour ago, so I couldn't have given you advance notice. And as for getting inside...when I was here for the ball I noticed that the servants entrance, the one that you sent me out when you _excused_ me..." Edward paused, annunciating the word and drilling it into Isabella's eyes. "...does not have a properly functioning lock. It's loose and shaky and if you push it hard enough and to the left it will give completely. That, and the fact that the door hinges don't squeak, which is a plus, made it almost too easy to get inside. You might want to have the door fixed."

"Mmm but....Then how would you get in?"

"....I'd have to find another way."

She blushed into her shoulder. "So. Now that you're here and it's the middle of the night and you've woken me from a sound sleep...is there a purpose to your visit?"

"I hadn't really thought that part through. I figured I'd be caught before I ever made it to your room."

"Well you made it. You're here. Now what?"

"It's your room. You tell me."

There was a pregnant pause and Isabella took Edward by the wrist and led him deeper into the room. She disrobed and climbed back under the covers, still warm from where her body lay moments ago, and pulled Edward in with her.

What started off as a gentle reaquaintance and picking up where they left off the night before quickly turned into a heated, strangled attempt to rip off clothes without detaching lips. When they finally succeeded and lay naked in each others arms, Edward was once again visited by the devil on his shoulder in the form of Alex's words of encouragement, but Isabella cut his visit short with a revelation of her own.

"I think you should know...I should probably tell you that I've never been with anyone but him. He took me to live with him when I was 15 and then took me as his lover a year later. So forgive me if...it's not what you've come to expect or are used to. But I'm a quick learner and I thrive on practice."

Isabella had seen a sliver of Edward's hidden skin once. It was the second week in the studio when the temperature had risen to a tolerable level outside which meant they were doomed to bake inside. One day of warmth didn't mean they turned off the large soot-spitting double boilers in the basements of the buildings downtown. It simply meant that they could gather more heat in the brickwork to save away for the inevitable freezing temperatures the next day or even hours from then. The weather in Moscow was the enemy of most.

Isabella had stripped an hour before down to her thin white shirt and tights and _even then_ she was wet through a few minutes into rehearsal. She could feel the sweat flinging off her nose and hair in a ring around her during pirouettes and she slid a solid meter across the floor on sweat-slick feet during a landing that was the hardest of the routine anyway, never mind with friction between her and the wooden flooring like ice on glass.

She had pulled herself up, sworn loudly, blaming everyone and everything but herself - the weather, the air, Nicolai, the dog that had woken her up before dawn - anything to keep from looking like a fool. Especially in front of Edward. When she felt she had properly justified her small failure, she risked a glance to Edward to see if he was laughing at her or looked disappointed. Isabella snuck a look as she pretended to take a drink of water and glanced over her shoulder...

...Just in time to see Edward stand and pull his thick, gray, woolen jumper over his head. There was a hand's width of flesh exposed as his shirt underneath rode up, but Isabella's eyes completely raped the space between navel and belt buckle. It was two inches, at most, of the whitest, softest sex she had ever seen, the delicate copper treasure trail disappearing in the hem of Edward's slightly-too-big, black trousers, the braces doing little to keep them just above his hips. It was there, then it was gone in a flash like a ghost that Isabella wasn't quite sure she'd seen or not.

But she had.

Because the memory of it was burned into her retinas so deep that when Nicolai clapped his hands to begin Isabella jumped like she had been electrocuted. She coughed with a dry throat and did anything she could to keep her eyes off of Edward for the rest of the hour.

Now with Edward stretched out beside her it was not much different than it was then. But this time there was more to look at, _too much_ in fact, and Isabella was trying to keep it together as she ran her timid hands up Edward's lean, curved sides, over the smooth muscles in his back and Edward nudged his weight onto her.

It felt like her first time being touched, being seen, and even before she confessed her sexual history - or lack thereof - she knew Edward had seen the fear in his eyes along with the lust. Isabella had taken control in leading Edward to the bed but she was now more than happy to let _Edward_ lead her, to show her what to do.

The last thing she wanted to do was disappoint him.

But the last thing Edward felt was disappointment. He sat up and back on his heels staring down at the woman below him, graceful even when still, her wrists lightly crossed on the pillow above her head and her heavy-lidded eyes that said _whatever you want_, slim hips, everything finally revealed to Edward that he had been catching as passing glimpses over the last few months. His head reeled at the power under his hands as he ran them up Isabella's toned arms, down her chest and over her bare rounded breasts.

"What do you like? What do you want me to do to you?"

Even in the soft barely-there moonlight streaming in from the large windows the blush creeping across Isabella's cheeks was undeniable. She turned her face to the side, closed her eyes, reached for Edward and pulled him down so she could smother her discomfort in his strong shoulder.

"Whatever you want."

Lowering his head to Isabella's throat, feeling her fingers threading through the shock of bronze hair already dampening with sweat, he licked a trail of wet fire down and over her bare chest, soft and supple like velvet, stopping at a nipple and swirling his tongue around it before taking it in his mouth. With her fingers clenched in Edward's hair, she arched her back off the bed, allowing Edward to slip his hands underneath and run them up and down her spine, finally getting to feel what he'd only been able to look at for so long.

_Second movement, fifth stanza_.

He moved to the other nipple and did the same, suckling softly and reaching down between Isabella's legs as her whimpers grew stronger. She had her lips sucked into her mouth, biting them to keep the sound in and Edward wondered if she was allowed to make any noise with Demetri. He wondered if she'd ever been paid this much attention in bed at all.

He slipped a long finger inside her hot, swollen wetness, barely giving her a chance to react before he added a second, pushing deep, deeper, not giving her a chance to catch a breath and he knew he succeeded when her mouth opened and a sweet moan slipped out.

Isabella's hands were grasping, _clawing_ at the white silken bedsheets that would never be as soft as the skin under his fingers.

"Talk to me," Edward encouraged softly as he scooted down between her slim thighs, "Let me hear you." The tip of his tongue swirled around and inside her damp folds and Isabella's eyes flew open, her head whipping up curiously as if to ask, _What are you doing?_

Edward snatched the opportunity and began sucking on her clit with expert precision, which was rewarded by a sharp cry and buck of hips, brown eyes still curious but the pupils were now dilated to black pools, kitten-moans on the edge of each panting breath.

It was only a minute before Isabella was murmuring something unintelligible and drawing shapes on Edward's shoulder, slowly becoming more persistent until Edward let go and slid his perfect body up the length of her torso. He lifted her legs and clasped them behind his back, positioning himself between them and pressing the head of his cock against her yearning entrance.

He waited for her to give him the ok to enter. And with a nod of her head she wrapped her hands around his buttocks and pulled him in, and in one long, forceful thrust he was all the way in to the base of his cock, and she kept him there, her eyes rolling back in her head at the feeling of his substantial length filling all she the room she had to give. Then she pushed him back slightly and he groaned and clenched his muscles so she couldn't take him all the way out, but she had no intention of letting him go and she clamped her hands on his ass and pulled him in again, slowly this time, relishing every inch he dove inside her. And as Edward slid in slowly he thought that if Demetri were to burst through the door right now with an army and hell on his heels that he wouldn't stop. Fuck wouldn't. He _couldn't_ stop.

When his hips lay flush against the back of Isabella's thighs he leaned down and kissed her, laying still and soothing her moans with his lips and tongue. Then he started to move on his own, without her permission. The slats of the wooden blinds were casting phosphorescent bands of glowing, rippling light across their bodies, highways for fingertips and runways for hungry, exploring mouths. The smell of arousal was so rich that the air around them was clouded, damp from breath. Moans and whispered words were so thick they were nearly physical, plucked from each others mouths with spindly fingers to be swallowed down with the words it was too soon to say.

"Talk to me, you pretty thing. Tell me what you don't tell him. Moan for me like you won't for him."

He wouldn't let her forget that she no longer belonged to him.

With every slick, liquid thrust, Edward reminded her. _This is what love feels like. This is what love feels like. Honestly tell me if he's ever made you feel this way. You can't because he doesn't love you like I do. He could never fuck you like I do. This is what love feels like. _

He wanted to say it but he held back the words that were racing around in his mouth looking for a way out. He clenched his jaw, instead deciding to continue to show her.

His elbows were shaking from the effort of holding back, going slow, remembering every single second, every small gasp that represented another crack in Isabella's composure. Edward wanted to make her shatter and he wasn't going to attain that by collapsing onto her body and rutting like an animal. It had to be slow, precise, worshipful.

"Isabella please..."

Edward rolled his hips deeper, pulling out almost completely before sliding his entire length back in and Isabella finally found her voice.

"_Fuck_...like that. Edward, yes...do that again. Oh god...ooooh god."

"Aahhhh yeeeesss. Give me more, baby."

"Harder. P-please...If that's-_jesuuus_-If that's ok."

Edward giggled at the little enigma of a girl under him as he raised up, bracing his hands on Isabella's hips and lifting them. He pounded harder and Isabella reached above him, bracing her hands against the headboard and pushing back, arching to meet every one of Edward's thrusts. Edward growled low in his throat when he felt her hand find its way down to the point where their bodies were connecting and she let her fingers get in the way so she could feel the sensation on her fingertips of his wet cock sliding in and out of her soaked opening.

Edward groaned in ecstasy and used his remaining strength to push ever harder. He said Isabella's name and found her eyes, making her look at him. His legs were already tingling, heat climbing up and pooling in his stomach when he heard Isabella cry out sharply, the loudest sound he'd ever heard her make. The already tight muscles hugging him clenched almost painfully and he pulled out just before he came and watched his semen spill onto Isabella's stomach mixing with both of their sweat.

He caught a deep breath, steadying his legs before swiping a hand through the pool of liquid, evidence of their combined orgasm, and slapping in right in the middle of Demetri's family crest glowering at them from the headboard above. A nervous laugh came from deep in Isabella's throat. She reached for the sheet to wipe their bodies but Edward stopped her, gripping her wrist with a serious gaze.

"You don't belong to anyone. Not to me, and certainly not to him. People are not possessions."

"That's where you're wrong," she panted, wiping her hand across his sweat-drenched forehead. His brow furrowed in disagreement and he opened his mouth to argue, but she placed her index finger to his swollen lips so he would allow her to continue.

"...I am a possession. ...I belong to you."


	13. It is not your right to change the steps

I do not own twilight

* * *

**It is not your right to change the steps he gives**

_"You don't belong to anyone. Not to me, and certainly not to him. People are not possessions."_

_"That's where you're wrong," she panted, wiping her hand across his sweat-drenched forehead. His brow furrowed in disagreement and he opened his mouth to argue, but she placed her index finger to his swollen lips so he would allow her to continue._

_"...I am a possession. ...I belong to you."_

Naked under the covers, they lay in silence, giggling occasionally when the other stumbled upon a ticklish spot as they mapped each other's bodies, learning their scents. Isabella's mouth moved over Edward's hip, over a space that's always a little tender. Not because of memories of the physical pain of the hot needle that had put it there on a humid summer night sprawled across a dirty bed, but tender because of the memories that forced their way to the front of Edward's mind.

"What's_ A.T._ mean?" she asked.

*

_"Come on. Let me. I'll let you do me next."_

_"I don't wanna do you. What if it gets infected? What if it's all crooked? What if you chuck me out tomorrow branded like a cow?"_

_"It won't get infected. Who cares if it's crooked? And I promise from the bottom of my black, worthless heart that I will not chuck you out tomorrow……Maybe the day after, but not tomorrow."_

*

Edward hadn't been able to say no to Alex's sideways grin and thought that maybe crooked things weren't so bad after all. It had been in the first house on Orchard Lane and Edward and Alex's room had been the only room on the top floor. It was a bright blue door at the top of the stairs that was all theirs because no one else wanted it. The carpet was too thick, the ceiling too low, it was hot in the summer always jutting into the July sun, and cold in the winter because it was far from the fireplaces on the first two floors. They played hangman with thick black markers on the walls and fed the spiders that kept out the flies when they threw open the large windows to chase the stale sex-laden, smoky air from the corners of the room. There was a small bed, a dresser, Alex's desk and a trunk with all their mutual belongings and it had been all they needed.

Edward remembered the hot smell of the lighter fluid and the clicking of the Zippo as Alex struck it to life every few seconds to reheat the needle. And he remembered Alex pausing every few minutes to kiss distracting trails over Edward's concave stomach when he saw him cringing from the corner of his eye.

*

"Something a friend did," Edward answered her. "Doesn't matter."

_I don't want to talk about it._

Any of Edward's other friends would never have accepted his brush-off and held him down until he told them, but Isabella only gave her little grin and said "Ok" and Edward was, for once, grateful for her submission.

There was a shiny metal silver ball on the night table and when Isabella saw Edward eyeing it she reached over and flipped a small wooden switch in the back. A light sparked to life in the center and the globe started to slowly spin spilling a galaxy of stars over the ceiling, the walls, themselves. As Edward watched Centaurus make it's way across Isabella's perfect cheekbones, he thought that she probably wouldn't know anything about a poor childhood that brought about games like shadow puppets and broom horses. She probably had more toys than she could ever play with. Electric trains and brightly colored blocks and cars and paint sets in brilliant colored tins from India. She probably had a nanny or two and three hot meals a day and a real pony with ribbons in its mane and security and warmth. She was probably raised under skirts of silk, dashing about at parties after the little house dogs while her father and the men discussed politics in a room they probably referred to as the Grand Parlor.

"Isabella?"

"Hmm?"

"Where are you from?"

"New York City. ...But I haven't been back since he took me."

"Oh..........What do you think about when you're dancing?"

"Lately? ...You."

"Really?"

"Yeah.....Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?"

Edward cut his eyes and saw Isabella's twinkling back at him through the dark. He couldn't help but smile softly at her and run his fingers over the curve of her jawline. "I've never met anyone like you. Not ever."

"Hmm," she hummed into his touch. "I've never met anyone like you either. And...no one has ever made me feel that way." She looked away from him, not being able to handle eye contact and confessions at the same time. "_That_ was....it was..."

"Yeah. I know. ...Me too," he whispered, reassuring her that she wasn't the only one swept away.

She smiled as though Edward had just pulled her flailing from a river and reached to flip off the slight bedside light, leaving the stars slowly twirling above their heads. They kissed quietly for a few seconds before Isabella scooted to one side, turning her back to him.

"Where are you going?"

"To sleep."

"And you think there's any way in hell I'm letting you sleep that far from me? C'mere." he ran his palm down the thick line of her spine and pulled her into him.

Moments later they had shifted and twisted until their bodies fit together like a puzzle, Edward wrapped around Isabella's torso, Isabella's face buried in Edward's throat and Edward's nose burrowing deep in her thick molten hair.

In the hallway Jane stopped her pacing when she heard the room fall silent. She had been keeping a nervous vigil for an hour, wringing her hands and keeping the other staff members away, not being able to help but to hear the sounds leaking from under the door. She waited ten minutes until she was sure they were asleep before slipping downstairs to leave a note for the chef that she'd be delivering Mistress Isabella her breakfast to her room the following morning. She gathered a pillow and blanket from her bed and went back to her post, guarding them from the danger of discovery from the embroidered sofa by the door.

**

"You don't have to do that, Jane. There's no one watching you today," Isabella shuffled barefoot into the master bedroom sleepy-eyed from being up all night and rubbing the crook of her left arm, the last place on her body to touch Edward as they said their goodbyes in the afterglow of their lovemaking and in the early morning sunlight. Huddled in the doorway that led to the alley behind the building, Isabella refused to let go of the man wrapped up and sighing contentedly in her arms. Wound tightly around Edward's ribcage - she buried her face in his neck, the throb of his pulse thumping lightly against her lips. Isabella moaned low, almost inaudibly in Edward's ear, _Stay with me. Come back inside. Come back to bed with me._ But Maxwell was waiting by the car to take Edward home and Isabella knew she had to let him go. Like a delicate satin ribbon she loosened the knot and watched Edward wave newly untied into the wind.

"Of course I do," Jane responded dryly, her uniformed back to Isabella as she gathered a huge pile of tangled bed sheets in her arms and dropped them at the foot of the bed. "It's my job."

"Then let me at least give you a hand." Isabella smiled a smile that Jane was sure she'd never seen cross her face before, one that used her eyes and entire mouth, one that created a dimple in her cheek deep enough to dive in and creased gentle lines into her smooth forehead. All the other smiles, the ones she put on when Demetri walked into the room or when someone told her how wonderful she was, how stunning, how remarkable - those smiles that were there to humor and avoid, the ones that were expected and fake...this was not one of them. Isabella took the clean pile of sheets from under her arm and began unfolding them, readying them to be stretched over the massive bare mattress. She did this in silence, wondering if Jane was surprised that she knew how to do chores, wondering what she'd think if she knew that as a child she used to make-up her bed every day before helping her brother with his own.

"You're happy," Jane noticed, shoving the large down pillows into fresh cream-colored pillow cases and arranging them at the headboard.

"Pardon?"

"...as you should be," she continued. "He's beautiful."

Isabella pivoted quickly towards the window and before she could turn around again she had to find the lie, the story she had been meaning to fabricate in the event they were found out. But Edward's exit had gone so smoothly, the staff was in the kitchen preparing their breakfast and murmuring amongst themselves, oblivious to the fact that Edward was sneaking out the back service entrance. And Isabella could have sworn that she saw Jane among them. So how did she know? Did she hear their moans? Or worse yet....had she _been_ in one of the adjoining rooms?

"I, uh...I'm not sure I know who you're talking about."

"The boy from the ball. That was him, wasn't it?"

"You _saw_ him?"

"Walking up the stairs last night. I was on my way to the parlor. Don't worry, he didn't see me. I have a very quiet step."

"You think he's beautiful?" Isabella felt the blush rush to his face. She wanted to hear it again, she wanted to hear Jane talk about him so she could feel what it was like to have Edward's name fall from someone else lips. Then she could close her eyes and remember that face hovering over her as he pushed inside harder and faster until she cried out and stars fell.

"Indeed. I've never seen a man quite like him. Much like I've never seen a woman quite like _you, _Isabella. Why do you think I came in here straight away to turn the bed over? I'm sure these sheets are in desperate need of a good scrubbing. As are you. I'd take a long, hot shower if I were you, before Demetri gets back."

"Shit. Already?" She didn't need a response to know the answer, wincing as she recalled _that_ goodbye - the unnaturalness of Demetri pulling her into his arms like a rag doll, hugging her way too close for way too long, the parental control in his voice as he instructed her to make sure she stretched and practiced. _That_ was the bit that infuriated Isabella more than their forced displays of affection. She wished she could say, _"You don't need to talk to me like I'm a child. It's the love of dance that makes me practice, not you."_ But instead she put on one of her smiles, that time she chose consent and submission, and wore it like a mask, _"Of course darling, you have a wonderful trip and do come back quickly. I'll be missing you terribly."_ The lie tasted like chlorine in her mouth and left an acidic grimy paste coating her tongue.

"What do you think you'll do?"

"Do?" Isabella crossed to the other side of the bed and helped Jane pull the bed sheet tight across and tuck it under the mattress. Its considerable weight made Isabella wonder how a girl as slight and petite as Jane could lift such a thing on her own. She imagined Jane to have many hidden talents that would surprise anyone who'd take the time to pay attention to her.

"How are you going to see him again?"

"What makes you think I intend to see him again?"

"I _heard_ you two together, Isabella. If I were you - and pardon my candor but at this moment I wish I _was -_ I'd be counting the seconds until I had the opportunity to see such a man again."

"You..._heard_ us? But this room is…"

"Soundproof, I know," Jane winked and teasingly bit her tongue into the corner of her mouth. "OK I lied. I didn't hear you. But I didn't have to. I see it in your eyes." She returned to the bureau and retrieved more pillow cases.

"Jane? Jane, please. _ Please_ don't say anything about this to anyone. I don't want him hurt."

"I know. Because you love him, don't you."

"....I do."

"Well, even if you didn't...I would never say anything ill of you, intentionally or otherwise, to anyone. You are a good woman, Isabella Swan, and one day you will have everything you want, I just know it."

Isabella was silent for a moment and Jane could sense that she wanted to tell her something. And Isabella didn't know if it would make any difference to Jane, but for the first time in this house she was finally able to verbalize to her feelings to someone who'd listen, someone who _wanted _to listen and someone who cared about what she had to say. She stood up straight and looked Jane directly in her hazel eyes.

"There is something else. Something you should know about that man you saw. ...His name is Edward. And he's not just anybody...he's my pianist and if you're ever lucky enough to hear him play, it will bring your sky down."

**

Edward waved over his shoulder at Maxwell as he scampered up the walkway. It was a cloudless bright morning and he barely registered his trip up the front porch stairs as a result of his untied laces. He pushed through the screen door into the scent of coffee and cigarettes and was immediately pounced on by stern faces with hard beady eyes.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Tanya hissed, wiping her hands on her apron and turning off the faucet. Behind her Edward saw Jake, Sam, Jasper, and Paul sitting in various positions around the living room, hands in their laps, bags under their eyes.

"Wait, let me guess. By your cheshire cat smile I'll bet you were, hmm...out _fucking_ the dancer?"

"Lucky guess." Edward smirked, bending down to give her a kiss but she pulled away before he could get his lips on her cheek.

"Save the cute routine for someone who wasn't up all night with your best friend and ex-lover. How dare you not even call. As if we don't have enough on our hands right now, _you_ disappear and leave us worried sick." Her bite and the anger behind her eyes made it more than clear that she was NOT kidding and she was NOT amused and she wanted an answer and she expected an apology.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Ohhhh, now you care? How about a 104 fever on top of the shakes and incessant vomiting, which is all the more appealing when there's left nothing in the stomach to vomit up save the lining. Have you ever tried to get green bile out of a shag carpet?"

"Fuck."

"One track mind, this one," Tanya rolled her eyes at Alice who just walked in with a full laundry basket in her hands. "Hey Alice, looks who's decided to join us. Must be a completely different view from a penthouse window, huh?"

"Come on, Tanya, that's not fair. He told me to go. He said he was alright."

"He _always_ says he's alright. He'll sit up in his casket and insist to everyone that they're over-reacting, wont he? But we know better. YOU of all people know better. How could you, Edward? After all he's done for you. Sure he's an asshole and a million other things but he's your friend despite his faults. He's also been around alot longer than this girl you're sweet on and he'll be around long after this one's gone. Now go upstairs and see your fucking friend."

Edward put his tail between his legs and smiled weakly, _You're right I'm sorry_.

On his way up the stairs a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. It was Jasper. Edward prepared for the lecture he knew he deserved but it didn't come. How a man with the face of a newborn cherub was able to command attention and respect with just a look was a mystery Edward knew he'd never solve. When Jasper wanted to talk, you listened, and when he talked it was quick and to the point and the pauses were not meant to be filled with your comments or thoughts on what was being said. They were there to allow him space to gather the rest of his thoughts together so he could give them to you as concisely and cohesively as possible. Jasper didn't chit chat.

"I'm leaving tomorrow with the band and I don't know when I'll be back. We're stopping at a few festivals, playing on street corners and in a couple of parks and when we come back I'll have money and if Alex is still unwell that money is going to send him to the hospital."

There was the pause. Edward waited.

"We're all each others responsibilities here, regardless of time or place. We can't forget that. If we do, we're lost."

"I understand, Jasper."

"I know you do."

**

"Hey Ally," Edward whispered in the darkened room, pulling a wooden desk chair up to the bed and sitting at Alex's side. The room was stifling hot and Edward assumed there was a reason why. It smelled like rubbing alcohol, a smell Edward knew Alex detested. But looking down on him, Edward frowned. Alex was pale and clammy, his cheeks had sunken in and shadows had developed under his eyes but they'd just opened and were still that wonderful shade of bearskin brown.

"Heyyyyy, Ally." Edward could hear the fake joy in his own voice but he didn't care how it sounded. Alex stared at him for a beat and then snorted an eye-rolling laugh.

"Asshole."

"ME?? _You're_ the asshole," Edward chirped, jumping to his feet. "Who the fuck told you to relapse on the one day I'm not here? Now the entire house hates me. Paul wouldn't even look at me and Tanya practically called me a deserter."

"Ah well. The things we do for pussy and cock. Tanya should know." Alex sighed and reached for the glass of water on the nightstand and cigarettes that weren't there.

"So. Was she good?"

"Sorry?"

"Did I stutter? Was. she. good? As in a good fuck, a proper lay. I want every disgusting detail. Who did what to whom, how many times did you come and how much. I want quantities, Eddy. You _owe_ me _quantities_."

**

"Isabella?"

"Yes?"

"What was it like?"

"_It_?"

"....with Edward. Was it better than...?" Jane's sitting on the edge of the bed with the linens in her lap and her legs crossed at her ankles, ashamed that she'd even broached the subject of sex with Isabella. She knew she had no right, Isabella's private life was none of her business, the private lives of those she was subservient to were none of her business and if she dared asked such a question of anyone other than Isabella she'd be terminated at once. But she'd known since she arrived for her first day at work that Isabella was not like the others, not like Demetri or his evil sisters, not like the aristocratic assholes that swan around as though the Earth's revolution depended on their happiness. Not Isabella. She might be the mistress of the house, taught to look down her nose at anyone of a class lower than her own but that first night, when no one was looking, she was the one to show Jane back to her room and calm her shaking hands after Demetri scolded her in front of a roomful of guests, humiliating her to tears.

"The two cannot be compared."

"Then how was it different?" Jane stared a hole into the thick carpet, terrified that she overstepped her boundary, when she felt the mattress give beside her as Isabella sat down.

"You know the feeling you get when a man first touches you? The feeling when it's a man you love versus the feeling when it's a man you don't...well, when Edward put his hands on me last night for the first time...His hands, Jane, his hands, I wish they were here for me to show you...his touch, it's part of me now, etched in me, it's a feeling I'll never forget for as long as I live. ...Try as I might, I cannot remember what it felt like the first time Demetri touched me.

That's how it's different."

"What does it feel like? Sex, I mean. I...I've never done it before...and I can't ask the girls downstairs, they'll tease me."

"If it's done right, by someone who knows what they're doing, it's the most incredible feeling in the world. If it's coupled with love and devotion, it's even better. I didn't know that last part until last night. That's not much help, I know. I'm sorry. I'm sure you'll be wonderful when the time comes and who ever you decide to be with will be the luckiest man in the world." She leaned in and kissed Jane's warm temple.

_One day I'll tell you what it's like to wake up to that soft pulse, to turn and see him spooned behind you waking up and wanting you again, asking you with his eyes if you want him too, if he can come inside you, knowing that your answer is yes just by looking at you, and you roll yourself over so he doesn't have to and the way he fucks you when you're both half asleep is just as passionate in the dopey haze of morning as it is in the dark of night._

**

It was the saddest shower she had ever taken. Sadder than when she watched the blood run down her legs in rivulets and swim in a circle around her feet before disappearing down the drain. Sadder than those times she stepped under the warm flow of the showerhead to the searing pain of water in open wounds - delicate wounds from Demetri's cane, marks that looked like they were drawn with precision over her skin with a fine needle, sharp whips on the backs of her calves when after endless hours she became too tired to hit her 'd fill her mouth with water and spit out a spray of watered down blood over the tiles because when the slaps got carried away they became punches.

She'd give anything for this shower to be one of those many and not the one that washed Edward's smell from her body and the dried semen from between her legs. She hated the fragrant French lavender soap she picked out when they were in Paris. She despised the array of shampoos and conditioners lined up in tiny expensive bottles, the various scrubs and washes and lotions with elaborate descriptions of what they were in their fancy names, and none of them smelt anything like Edward's perspiration or unwashed hair or the bottoms of his feet. Why would anyone want to wash away the natural odor of sex with the man you love and replace it with caustic perfumes? The puff of draft as the bathroom door opened alerted Isabella that she was no longer alone. She pretended not to notice the shadow creeping up the frosted, dimpled pane of glass that was the shower door and tried to ignore the sound of wheels rolling it open.

"There's my beautiful girl and her perfect body. ...Did you miss me?"

Standing on the tile as the shower stream poured over her and removed the foamy layer of soap from her flawless, porcelain skin, Isabella looked at the man in front of her. Demetri. Disheveled from his journey but still in a suit and loosened tie. Isabella sighed in defeat and took another smile mask off the shelf adjusting it over her face.

"Desperately, darling. How was your trip?" _did that sound convincing_? Isabella stopped the water and stepped onto the bath mat. Demetri grabbed a thick blankety towel and began drying her off.

"It was just fine. Work work work." Massaging the towel roughly into Isabella's shoulders, Demetri raked his eyes over her glistening body, watching the beads roll down her firm torso and he felt that punishing need over take him. He forced Isabella's mouth open and pushed his tongue inside, controlling the movement of her head by clamping his paw behind her fawn-like neck.

"Mmm, I missed you. I had almost forgotten how gorgeous you are after a shower."

"I've got to be at the studio in an hour." Isabella removed Demetri's hands from her sides only to have them return and squeeze her flesh even harder.

"That gives us plenty of time. And, lucky for me, you're already naked."


	14. I've always been known to cross lines

I'm on the corner waiting for a light to come on  
That's when I know that you're alone  
It's cold in the desert, water never sees the ground  
Special unspoken without sound

Told me you love me, that I'd never die alone  
Hand over your heart, let's go home  
Everyone noticed, everyone has seen the signs  
I've always been known to cross lines

I never ever cried when I was feeling down  
I've always been scared of the sound  
Jesus don't love me, no one ever carried my load  
I'm too young to feel this old

Here's to you, here's to me  
On to us, nobody knows  
Nobody sees, nobody but me

- Kings of Leon, Cold Desert

**I've always been known to cross lines**

The walk to the studio might as well have been a walk to the gas chamber, the electric chair, the gallows, lethal injection - any of those things sounded like a sunny day in Spain compared to what Isabella knew waited for her inside. She'd prefer Edward see her in the company of the Gestapo than on Demetri's arm. But that's how it happened.

Nicolai bustled out to the front to greet them, already gushing over how many tickets they'd sold to the upcoming performances.

"It's going to be marvelous, Demetri. Isabella is truly fantastic, I must say."

"Oh I'm well aware of her many talents, Nicolai," he crowed.

While Nicolai and the rest of the company gushed over Demetri and the future of the studio, Isabella ducked into the rehearsal room and set her bags down. The lights were off so she turned them on and jolted at the sight of Edward sitting at the piano staring at the pages of music in front of him, his hair wild shrieking bronze and his emerald eyes sparkling from across the room. The light startled him and he jumped to his feet.

_Stop thinking about what she looked like last night with her legs hinged over your shoulders, gasping for breath and moaning your name to God._

"Isabella."

_Ignore the fact that his eyes are even brighter after you've seen them in the dark. Don't think about the last time you said his name and the way it sounded when he stuttered it over your orgasm._

"Edward."

That was all they had time to say to one another before Nicolai barged in mumbling something about pay scale and measurements and barked at them to take their positions.

Demetri watched from the doorway, every now and then ordering someone around and taking a call. Isabella hated it when Demetri came to the studio. Not because she was nervous about making a mistake, but because it made her sick to witness how he treated those around him, the staff and her fellow performers, and it only served to remind her that that was also how _she_ behaved.

Rehearsal went on as planned, there was no choice to have it happen otherwise and when time was up Demetri and Nicolai returned to their discussion of business, leaving Edward and Isabella alone in the space.

"Double quick time, Isabella. We have guests arriving this evening." Demetri shot a look of death in Edward's direction on his way out the door.

"Superb playing tonight, Edward. As usual." Isabella packed her bag without looking in Edward's direction, stuffing socks and sweatshirt and slippers in no order and fighting with the zipper to close. It killed her to be that cold and abrupt to him when only a few hours earlier they were in each others arms watching the sunrise, their sexual arousal peaking only seconds after completion and in continuous waves over and over until they were too exhausted to speak.

"Well, see you tomorrow then," she said politely, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

"Isabella...wait." He held his arms at his sides and stood in the center of the room, willing her to turn around and look at him in his shabby overcoat and cock-eyed tie.

"I can't wait, Edward. You heard him. We're having guests tonight. I have to go."

"Please," Edward took a step forward and stopped - the invisible hand of Demetri pressing into his chest like an electric force field.

"We can't do this," Isabella said without turning around. "I'm sorry. He'll be here any minute."

"I don't care. I need to see you."

"Well you can't. Go home Edward. If he sees you talking to me like this..." Isabella winced, unable to finish the painful thought. "You must go."

"Then meet me somewhere. Anywhere. Even if it's only for five minutes." He took a chance and crosses the room, coming up flush against her back and breathing through his nose into her hair. "Please," he panted. "I need you, it doesn't matter for how long. Tell me you'll meet me. I know you want to see me again. Say it. Say it like you said it last night. You need me too, don't you?"

She shut her eyes and succumbed to Edward's invisible grasp. "…………....Yes." She felt the warmth of his arms around her waist, his palms sliding up the expanse of her back, floating over her shoulders and into her hair. She couldn't deny the attraction that pulled them together like magnets.

**

The dinner plates all hit the table at exactly the same moment just like every time they had company in the penthouse. The long dining table was filled to the brim with elegant silver cutlery and crystal goblets, fresh flowers arranged and rearranged until perfect, wine in every color, vintage and imported. The company had been chosen just as carefully. Only the wealthiest in Moscow dined in the Romanoff household. And even then they usually had something to offer, something that would benefit Demetri, add to his wealth or at least be there on either side of him to agree with all his political and social opinions and boost his ego even more.

There were twelve of them that night. Isabella had counted them over and over from her station at Demetri's right side, just right of the head of the table, as she tried to remember how many bullets the slick pistol tucked into Demetri's night table drawer held.

She would never have time to reload.

It was only nine o'clock but she had been of the verge of collapsing into her stuffed quail for over an hour. Bored to tears and exhausted from the night before and from keeping up her charade with so many guests milling about, she had been entertaining herself by tapping out her fingers to the piano music filtering through from the parlor, arching her fingers and stretching her hands across the hidden edge of the starched tablecloth wondering how Edward got that octave jump so quickly and precisely.

"Hands in your lap, Isabella."

His voice was a calm whisper and even though she was sure no one had heard, a blush crept up her neck. If they were the only two in the room she would still be embarrassed at being reprimanded like a fidgeting child.

"Isabella, I trust you're feeling better?" some trussed up peacock at the end of the table asked.

"...Pardon?"

"I was asking after you at the ball last month and was told you had retired early."

"Oh yes, quite well. Demetri took very good care of me indeed," Isabella grinned fakely, certain that if there were any way in heaven or hell that he could get away with it undetected, that Demetri would have planted his glamorous boot directly into her leg.

Instead he smiled and patted the back of her hand on the table, a gesture so much more dangerous, especially coupled with the sweet smile that came along with it.

"I imagine he did. He must be very proud of you and your accomplishments since you have arrived to us in Russia. Your name is on everyone's lips, and if I can be so bold as to speak for us all, you are becoming quite a shining asset here in our quaint little society."

Tinkling laughter and a few chuckles followed the lady's small stab at irony. _Quaint_. As they rolled the diamonds around in their mouths and rearranged their feet on the poor - keeping their Italian leather loafers from puddles.

"Thank you, madam. I will continue to try to meet your approval and the approval of everyone who has made this such a home for me."

Isabella reached for her glass of wine to wash the bile from her throat but Demetri stopped her with two fingers at the back of her hand and a hidden look. _That's quite enough_. Isabella retaliated the only way she knew how. She sat back with her best lobotomy smile and thought of Edward's hands traveling over her like silken spiders the night before, his tongue sweeping over her throbbing opening, the angelic sigh he couldn't keep contained as he pressed inside her that very morning.

"Demetri," the peacock continued. "I heard just the other day from a very reliable source that crime is picking up in the south. They pulled a body from the water last week and one of my maid's sons worked through the night Wednesday putting out fires set to almost an entire block. Seems the poor have nothing better to do than destroy each other."

Demetri leaned forward and pointed a finger with a smug expression. Ahh, his favorite topic. Isabella clenched her fists under the table. If it was intolerable before to hear him speak of people this way, it was even more so now that Isabella knew and _loved_, one of _those people_.

"And that's _just_ it. As long as it stays in the south then let them wipe each other out. It sounds like less work for us, if you ask me. They are uneducated, unwashed wastes who know nothing but thievery and violence and I pray every night that the good people in my company this evening aren't touched in any way by their existence. Of course they have their uses. The pianist that Isabella insists on keeping for his studio is from that area. Isn't that right, darling?"

_Fuck you. Fuck you. _Clenched fists under the table and a glare driving into Demetri's skull right between his eyes aren't enough. She was biting the blood from her tongue, teeth practically crumbling in a clenched jaw.

"I wouldn't know," she answered through her teeth.

"Hmm. Well I see no harm in it…yet. He hasn't stolen, that I'm aware of. I'll allow the best dancer in Moscow to have her good luck charm as long as her performance continues to improve. Even if his eyes are full of defiance and a hopeless future."  
_  
That's enough._

"Maybe you are mistaking defiance for hunger and I hardly see how sitting around a table with three times the food we need, wearing jackets, which are unnecessary in this _stifling_ house, that cost more than a year's wage to some of them is helping anything but our own egos. It's _hopelessness_ that breeds violence and it's our indifference that breeds the hopelessness. We have no one to blame but ourselves for what goes in on the south shore and the longer it is ignored the more people will die. Because they are _people_, Demetri. Whether you believe them to be an insult to your race or not."

Isabella could feel the slight smiles of amusement from around the table like she was a child who had just performed a trick, but she didn't see them because she was looking right into Demetri's eyes, his vision red around the edges.

"Maybe you've forgotten where you found _me_-"

"That's _quite_ enough Isabella. You'll get worked up, my angel, and won't be able to sleep tonight."

Demetri smiled gently out over the table as their guests sipped their tea and looked at Isabella like she was the most precious thing they'd ever seen. _What else can she do Demetri? Make her tell us about something else. _Youth and its passions make the best entertainment.

"Oh let the child have her notions, Demetri. I'm sure you were full of unfounded hope for the world when you were young."

"With all due respect, my dear, I disagree. Maybe at one time I thought things could be changed but it's just not so. I believe that the sooner Isabella accepts the necessity of social classes and accepts that she is in the highest tier and that dipping any lower is beneath her, the better.

When the last guest had gone, Isabella waited for the blows, the talk about her _behavior_, but they never came. She quietly assumed that anything she said wasn't taken seriously enough to necessitate punishment. She would have gladly taken a tongue lashing and a strike for her beliefs.

They took lavender tea in silence at midnight on the terrace with the smell of the blooming lilacs almost nauseating in its strength before retiring to the bedroom. Jane was there turning down their sheets and as soon as Demetri shut the bathroom door behind him she was at Isabella's side with her folded night clothes and a sly whisper.

"I saw him in the side alleyway about an hour ago. He's watching the bedroom light. I would have approached him but I don't know that he'd trust me with-"

"You've done enough, Jane. Thank you. That's all I need to know. The less you're involved the better. I don't want to place you into danger."

Isabella watched the clock and listened to Demetri's breath slowly even out. If she was caught out of bed she'd say she was feeling ill from the wine. That excuse would work once and she would have plenty of time to think of more if she survived this time.

The back door that led to the back alley creaked just enough to tell someone that had been listening for it for hours that it was open, that it was time. Isabella stepped out and only had time to draw one full breath of the new night air in her lungs before her arms were full of a pouncing Edward and her mouth was covered with his full lips starved for attention after hours in silence and solitude.

"I thought you weren't coming." He barely managed to gasp the words out before his mouth moved to Isabella's throat, his warm, wet tongue sizzling across the hot flesh of her neck. He backed them both up slowly until they hit the brick wall.

"This is as soon as I possibly could have made it. We don't have much time _ahhhh_."

Words were ripped from her mouth when two strong fingers slipped underneath her nightdress and slid inside her desperate wetness, immediately stroking her hard and fast. Isabella clamped her hands on Edward's shoulders and smothered her sighs and groans into his neck as the brick scratched into her spine through her thin shirt. With her climax close and her knees beginning to tremble under Edward's hand, Edward dropped to the cobblestone and lifted her shirt up to her belly button. He hungrily applied his tongue to her soaked pussy and took her clit in his mouth as she released, catching the come and swallowing down the evidence.

They took another five minutes in the cool breeze with the fat pigeons roosting above their heads, kissing quietly, Isabella's pulse racing at her taste on Edward's tongue. They whispered as Isabella's hand found sits way into his pants and moved leisurely over his length. She gripped and stroked him in slow motion while they stood in place against he wall, not able to muster the paranoia to rush. Edward spilled onto the concrete with a muffled groan and a sharp buck of hips and caught his breath before offering his worn jacket for Isabella to wipe her hand on.

"You need to get back," he panted, a sheen of sweat visible on his forehead and upper lip.

"I know."

"I'll see you at rehearsal?"

"Yes. In only a few hours. I'm sorry you had to wait for me for so long. You should have left for your own bed hours ago."

Edward kissed Isabella on her ear, her jaw, her lips.

"I would wait days in the rain for you. And the hard alley behind your house with you is better than any bed I've ever slept in alone. Sleep well, angel."

"Goodnight. ....uh, Edward?"

"Yes?"

"Is everything ok...where you live?"

"At my brother's house?"

"Yes there but...moreso at the other house."

"I don't live there technically. But it's alright, I guess. A little drafty, a little loud when everyone is home. Especially when Alex is in top form. The stairs creak."

"But I mean...it's not dangerous?"

"Why would it be dangerous?"

"I just heard...Well there was a fire. And someone was killed."

"Isabella someone is killed in Moscow everyday and not always in my house."

Isabella's eyes went wide, not catching the amusement in Edward's voice and she raised her hands in defense and apology, not even really sure what she said.

"Oh, I wasn't implying that-"

"It's not your fault. I can only imagine what a table full of rich old bastards has been filling your head with. Fist-fights to the death on the street, the homeless clawing at your ankles for handouts, everything you own being stolen from your pockets in a matter of seconds after crossing over the gated park? …It's not like that. We have lilacs too, ya know. And the best bakery in Moscow just a block from the front door. Every now and then we even _pay_ for our cinnamon buns."

Edward rolled his eyes and huffed a laugh when all Isabella could manage was a nervous smile.

"It was a joke. How about tomorrow night you escape for a bit and I'll take you? You can think of something. Maybe after dinner tell the old bastard you need some extra rehearsal time. I promise I'll have you back in two hours."

"I...I don't know."

"What are you scared of? What else can he do to you?"

"I'm more afraid of what he'll do to _you_."

Edward grinned so wide - unending courage birthing from orgasm endorphins and his girl so close to him - that Isabella couldn't help but give a weak smile back.

"I've lived for years in south Moscow, the world's deadliest and most hostile environment according to the papers. I think I can hold my own with a middle-aged snob. What do you say?"

"Yes, alright."

"Smile for me," he asked in a voice made of ginger and honey. Isabella was swept up in his gentle caress and he seemed so fucking happy that she smiled.

"There now. That's worth it. I'll risk danger every night for that smile. Goodnight, Isabella." He pressed his lips warmly to hers and sighed into a tender kiss, taking Isabella's breath away.

"Goodnight Edward."


	15. In the middle of the night

**Thank you for the reviews!! and for suspending reality in some instances where my research of the time period gets a little lazy ;p**

* * *

In the middle of the night  
Comes a knockin' at my door  
There's a limousine outside  
And I know who it's for

And I've heard it being read  
And I heard it being said  
Oh that the comfort in your head  
And I wonder if it doesn't create  
A sense of shame

It was a time before the last  
And we did not give up  
And I threw you on the ground  
And we did not get up

But I don't know why  
And I don't know why  
There's something in your eyes  
It made me want to cry  
With a sense of shame

You meet me heather deep  
I bury your heart on my knees  
All the time

from _In the Middle of the Night, _by Martha Wainwright

Minutes stolen from Demetri. That's how Edward began to look at his precious time with Isabella. Exotic locations when they were both in the studio toilets at the same time, a few seconds in an empty stall to kiss quickly and share tongues, to reiterate their desires with whispered desperation and promises for longer moments, to go over secret possibilities of where they might meet up next.

In the beginning Edward pocketed each abbreviated meeting, logged its duration and what they had been able to accomplish within that small space woven into the fabric of time. But still, everything was rushed, hushed, filled with looks over shoulders and nervous, darting eyes, no time to focus on that spot right under Isabella's earlobe where Edward discovered she loves to be kissed. There was no time to savor that spot, to give it the full attention of his tongue it so desired. More often than not they were both forced to leave each other with the same unsatisfied arousal they brought with them, knowing that the only full completion they would receive that night would be to go to their separate beds and reach into themselves, hold themselves, stroke and finger themselves and imagine it was the other's hand, the other's lips, to close their eyes and pretend that the hidden corner behind the studio wall under the rusted awning next to the dumpster buzzing with flies was enough...for now.

As it got closer to opening night, rehearsals were moved from the studio to the theater in the city center. It was a much longer walk for Edward from his side of town but if he had the money he would take the bus to the stop that let him off in the middle of the square at the same time the limo pulled in to drop off Isabella. Ahh the convenience of public transportation.

The new location in the turn of the century music hall with wall to wall decadence and cathedral ceilings, blood red carpeting, deep plush seats, many of them monogrammed with the names of season ticket holders past and present, three- no make that four- chandeliers that put the ones in Demetri's penthouse to shame hanging in a gloating row overhead - would normally have Edward's mouth hanging open and his eyes as wide as saucers, but they were less than secondary to the possibilities this new space provided.

The endless nooks and crannies.

More places to hide, more shadows and excuses to get lost in, more ways for Isabella to find her way into Edward's arms.

More places to get caught.

Rehearsals were lasting two, sometimes three hours longer than usual the two weeks leading up to opening night. All members of the cast were to be present and entire run-throughs of scenes needed to be done. Nicolai was in rare form, standing on a ladder at the side of the stage and shouting through his hands cupped at the sides of his mouth while his assistant walked around the perimeter of the stage with his arms behind his back, surveying every step from behind his spectacles. Edward was introduced to the other members of the orchestra and took his position in the pit where he would steal glances up at Isabella every chance he could, almost always finding Isabella's gaze already staring down at him.

Sabrina, Isabella's partner throughout most of the show, began taking an extreme liking to Edward, having only seen him once or twice during studio rehearsals and never out from behind the piano.

Isabella noticed the way she planned her routes from the dressing room and how she always managed to find an excuse to walk the long way round, in front of the orchestra pit and directly passing the ledge where Edward's piano was set up.

It was the first time in her young life that Isabella had ever felt the tightening twinge of jealousy. At first she thought it was indigestion but when she figured out that it was only happening when Sabrina was onstage, it took everything she could muster to keep herself from walking over to the statuesque ballerina and shedding light on her wanton, lust-filled thoughts.

_He doesn't want to fuck you, love. And he never will. I'm so sorry to disappoint you but it's only my body that he desires, Oh yes, I'm sure. I know because it's what he told me while he was coming inside me just last night._

Isabella was shocked at her sudden possessive demeanor and childish reactions when it came to even a non-existent competition for Edward's affections.

Edward had fallen asleep on the bus and missed his stop, the one just up the street from his brother's house. He cursed under his breath and looked out the window to gather his bearings. They couldn't meet tonight and Edward was pretending not to be disappointed. Isabella was required to attend a reception held by the theater in honor of the dance company. There was no way to get out of it. Everyone was going, everyone was invited, everyone except Edward. Demetri swore it had been an oversight on the part of theater management but Isabella knew different. All the other orchestra members had been invited. It wasn't an oversight, it was intentional. But Isabella smiled, _Of course it was an accident, my darling. These things happen_. Inside her guts were twisting, her blood boiling, almost painfully so, burning through her veins so hot she thought she might start spontaneously bleeding right through her skin. She wanted to run, in her expensive gown and designer shoes, knocking over whoever got in her way, tuxedoed waiters with trays of champagne, if she never saw another long-stemmed glass as long as she lived it wouldn't be long enough. Instead she remained tethered to Demetri's side, hooked on his arm like a freshly caught catfish.

Edward realized he was one bus stop away from the artist common house and decided to crash there instead of waiting for the route to pass his stop again. He knew he could collapse on the couch and the girls will make him toast in the morning. He looked at his watch – it was Alex's watch that he'd been borrowing. It was almost 1am. The house would still be up. Everyone was rarely asleep or awake, at home or at work, at the same time so there was no point ever being polite about barging in unannounced.

Edward pushed the door open to the sound of boots scuffing the wood floor. Sam and Jake were kicking a ball up and down the front corridor in a one-on-one game of 'break everything in the house'. Edward dodged Jake's high-kicked airball as he came sailing in for a hug.

"Hey man. How are ya?" Jake asked, not waiting for an answer before chucking the ball at Sam's back. Edward shook his head and turned to smack directly into Alex, who was chomping lon stake crackers and holding a glass of milk.

"Well well. Where ya been, mate? I step away from death's door for a minute and you disappear."

"Not now, Ally. I'm beat," Edward flopped down on the couch, fully clothed, shoes and all, and put his arm over his eyes.

"Sassy brunettes will do that to you. That's why I take mine in moderation."

"Hey Edward, staying the night?" Alice sauntered through the living area to the kitchen in her PJ's, hoping Alex would notice her. He did, for a moment, raising his eyebrows and licking his lips before turning his attention back to Edward.

"Hey, Alice, did ya hear? Our Eddy's got a girlfriend."

"I do not."

"Then where ya goin' every night? I know you're not hanging out with your brother, the walking coma. And you haven't been coming here til the wee hours of the morning. So what's up? As if I don't already know."

"Ooh yeah? Who is she, Edward?" Alice asked, growing more interested by the second. "The dancer? What's her name again?"

"Yeah, Edward, what's her name?" Alex prodded, poking Edward in the ribs with his pointy middle finger.

"Stop being an ass. I've told you her name before. Both of you. It's Isabella."

"Mmm. Sexy, innit. Rolls right off the tongue. Along with other things, aye? Which is why our dear Edward has been looking like such a tired banana lately, am I right?"

"The show is tomorrow night, dickhead. I've been working late every night to get ready, as if it's any of your business."

"_You_ are _always_ going to be my business, my dear. Haven't you realized that by now? You're in far too deep to get away from me." Alex whipped Edward into his arms, tight so Edward couldn't break free, and smushed an open mouthed kiss over Edward's pursed lips and for a split second Edward was lost, swimming in those familiar warm sponges with the frisky tongue in between.

"Bastard," Edward pushed free and rolled his eyes, unable to hold back the grin that Alex was always able to spread across his face.

"Leave him be, Alex," Tanya scolded, poking her head in the room and smiling. Edward felt a weight of relief lift off his shoulders to hear Tanya stick up for him, it meant she'd forgiven him for missing in action the day of Alex's relapse.

The girls walked outside with their tea and cigarettes and Alex grabbed Edward by the elbow, _hard. _He'd obviously regained his strength.

"Oww, what are you doing?" Edward winced, looking down at Alex's fingers buried deep into his flesh.

"Is her boyfriend still hitting her?" Edward was thrown off guard by Alex's sudden turn to the serious side.

"...I, uh," There's no way to lie. Not to Alex. Not to Alex and not about Isabella. Edward couldn't do it. He'd come home crying to Alex too many times.

"I don't think so. I haven't seen any...marks...lately and she hasn't told me...well, she _wouldn't_ tell me but..."

"Just be careful, Eddy. OK? Tell me you'll be careful. I have a bad feeling about all of this."

"I wish you could come to the show. I think you'd like it."

"Hmm. Boys in tights? Girls in tutu's? Yeah I think I'd like it, too. But alas, there is no room for us in their world. Unless of course we disguise ourselves as someone we're not" Alex flicked the words off the end of his tongue and shot them in Edward's directions, darts of poisoned saliva headed straight for their intended target.

"Then again," he continued. "I doubt you'll ever hear the likes of _them _admitting that they're _fucking the help_."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Forget it."

"I won't forget it. Why did you say that? You think I've forgotten who am I and where I come from? I haven't forgotten, Ally. I _won't_ forget."

"I know," Alex brushed the thought and the conversation out of his eyes like a cobweb. "You go play for them, Edward. Go play."

"Hey. Listen to me. I'm playing for _us_. How else do you think money gets under the milk tin each week? Because I fucking take it out of my pocket and I put it there, that's how. I go to work all day and I earn it.

"Right. …....and she's bonus wages."

"Ah. So _that's_ it. That's what this is about. Since when have you been interested in who I fuck? Since it stopped being _you_?"

**

The walk back to his brother's house in the middle of the night was not one set out on in anger. Edward and Alex had had fallings out worse than that and Edward never left, not until the last one that is. In fact he somehow always ended up back in Alex's bed, naked and sweating and wrapped up in Alex's arms with Alex's heavy staggered breathing whispering into his ear, _Forget about it. Let's forget about it. I love you._

Even if they still disagreed on the same things that started the argument to begin with, they vowed to always sleep next to each other. Such was the nature of their relationship. It could be volatile, but it was an understood volatility, and it could be toxic but more often than not it was plain intoxicating, which is why it was addictive. Tonight was no different from all those other times when they'd argue and wait to see who'd give first, who could come up with the most creative rebuttals, the most colorful and ridiculous defenses, but tonight Edward was not in the mood to deal with it. He was tired and he was sad and he couldn't stop thinking about Isabella.

He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and breathed deep breaths of the chilly night air. He contemplated having a drink or three with his brother on the back porch when he got home and maybe, just maybe, asking him his advice. But as he turned up the walk that led to house he saw headlights appear and grow brighter as they closed in.

The night had completely fogged over and Edward struggled to deduce the car's intentions. It stopped on the road by the post box and the back door opened. Edward was instantly terrified. His mind flooded with images of friends, family, lovers, how he should have hugged Rosalie and thanked her for everything she does for them before he left that morning, how he should have forgiven Alex long before he actually did, how he shouldn't pick fights with his brother, and how he should have told Isabella he loved her the moment he saw her.

Now he was going to die.

The figure walking towards him in the long black trench coat most certainly had a shot gun hidden underneath and was just waiting to get close enough to his target. Should he run? Would it do any good? Wait, maybe they aren't here for him. Maybe Emmett was in trouble, he did like to gamble now and then.

The clouds freed the moon and the figure's face was bathed in pale white light put to shame by the shine of that all-to-rarely seen smile.

"Isabella? It _is_ you. How did you get away?" Edward pulled her into a suffocating embrace and looked over her slender shoulder to brush away her hair. That was when he saw Maxwell sitting in the driveway in the idling limo. They gave each other knowing smiles and Edward waved in appreciation for him keeping this all in confidence.

"Max drove me. Demetri will be at that party all night. As long as the compliments and alcohol keep flowing I have several hours at least before I have to get back. Max brought a book."

Isabella swept her hands under Edward's shirt, caressing and kneading the soft skin covering his jagged hipbones and then stuffing them down the front of his pants, grabbing a handful of wiry pubic hair and a handful of cock.

"I said I was tired and needed my rest, when what I really need is you," she breathed her sweet breath sensuously across his face.

Edward groaned, trying to maintain his composure as Isabella thumbed circles over the moistening tip of his cock.

"You're lucky to find me here. I was going to stay at the big house tonight but Alex..." Edward smacked away the thought like shooing away a pesky gnat.

"What? Did something happen? Is he alright? Do you need the car?"

"No no he's fine. Back to his old self, which is the problem," Edward snickered. "Sometimes he can be...a little much. We know each other too well, that's the problem. But, that's how friends are, right? They know exactly what each button does."

Isabella smiled meekly and nodded, even though she had no idea how friends were. She'd have to have friends to know that.

Rosalie had fixed up a small closet at the end of the hall at the bottom of the stairs so Edward wouldn't have to keep sleeping on a pallet in front of the fire like a common house pet. Somehow she managed to fit a twin bed and a dresser with two drawers inside as well and still allow room for two bodies swollen with desperate cravings.

They closed the door and Isabella's hands immediately went to Edward's trousers, tugging at the buttons and sliding them down. She pulled his shirt over his head without warning and he let her without providing any assistance. He savored the feeling of her taking control over him, the look of possession in her eyes. One by one his clothing fell to the floor and he stood exposed to her. His erection bobbed in the dimly lit air of the closet as he watched Isabella's hands reach behind her back and effortlessly undo her corset clasp by clasp by clasp, her eyes never leaving his face.

"You're not wearing anything underneath," Edward gulped like a schoolboy who's voice had yet to change as she let her frilled skirt gather around her ankles. She smiled a crooked smile and bit down on her plump bottom lip, her eyes trailing down Edward's naked torso and growing wide-eyed in amazement when they landed on his skilled cock. She licked her lips. She knew what it could do to her, what it had done, what it was about to do again, and her wetness pooled between her legs and began to seep down her thighs.

Edward cupped his palms around her breasts and kneaded the soft flesh beneath his fingers. She moaned and let her head fall back. He swept his fingers across her nipples and they puckered and hardened under his touch. He could see her knees faintly begin to tremble and he pushed back and onto the mattress, the creaky frame crying under both of their weight.

"No soundproofing in here. But I don't care who hears us," Edward chuckled into Isabella's neck, nipping at that long collarbone and succulent hollow already filled with perspiration.

"...Do you want to be on top this time?" he asked, slipping his completely nude body under the sheet. Isabella began climbing up his body leaving a trail of her heat along his inner thigh.

"I...um...is...is that what you want?" she stuttered, her eyes wild with fright.

Edward could sense her hesitation and regretted asking the question. They switched positions, Edward deftly picking Isabella up in his arms and putting her on her back, swinging her legs over his shoulders in one swift motion. He looked down his nose at the fear in Isabella's eyes and his suspicion was confirmed.

_She's never done it._

"Isabella, I want you any way I can have you. But I want you to know that it doesn't always have to be about me. It's not expected. I don't _expect_ anything from you, my darling. Just know that when we're together, it doesn't always have to be the same. I belong to you and you can have _me_ any way you like."

"..."

Edward cocked his head to the side and asked directly, "Have you ever done it before?"

"....sure. Lots of times." Then why was she shaking like a leaf with a smile that would prove even the most qualified liar guilty? Edward decided not to press the issue, not with his erection throbbing an inch away from Isabella's opening.

"It's ok," Edward, said, leaning lower in a push-up stance to kiss her lips, the muscles in his arms straining and trembling as they held the weight of him over her. "But if you don't mind, I'd really like it if you'd let me in now. I can't wait much longer to have you." Edward pushed gently, knocking on Isabella's door with his tip.

Isabella smiled coyly and nodded _Yes, please,_ in relief that she had been let off the hook. Edward needed no more reassurances. He pushed inside her, all the way, where he should be, savoring the warmth that surrounded him. He let out a strangled groan and pressed his forehead into Isabella's heartbeat as he thrusted deep inside again,_ slowly_, and again, without losing inches. They were communicating with nods between thrusts that told Edward to _Yes, keep going, we've got time, don't stop. _

The tremors in Edward's legs told Isabella he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer and she pulled Edward down to her by the back of his neck and parted his lips with her tongue.

"It's alright. I'm ready. You can come now. There will be more times. Come for me, Edward."

He squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head stubbornly. "No, you first." he would force himself to hold his orgasm at bay until Isabella came. He didn't have to wait long. He placed a sweat drenched kiss on her upper lip and pulled out to his tip. Hitching an elbow under Isabella's knee he kissed and tongued the inside of her thigh and pushed inside her to the hilt. She cried out Edward's name and convulsed as her orgasm consumed her. It was all Edward needed. He groaned and spilled his seed across her stomach.

Drenched and spent and not wanting to look at the clock, Edward rolled over and sat up in bed with his back to the wall, pulling Isabella across his chest, tracing his fingers over the toned musculature of her stomach and drawing lines in the wetness that covered her in a layer of soapy film. The claustrophobic room reeked of fever and sex and semen. Finally he felt Isabella's muscles tighten as she lifted herself out of bed.

"Here, let's get rid of the evidence," Edward picked his wrinkled shirt off the floor and handed it to her.

"No. Leave it. I don't want to be clean of you."

"Isabella. He might see."

"I don't care. I'm not washing you off again. Every time my thighs stick together I'll know it's you down there." She pulled on her gown and fastened it up with ease. She adjusted her breasts and smoothed out her skirt and leaned down to kiss Edward who still laid in bed.

"You're beautiful," she whispered against his lips. He smiled and let his tongue wander into her mouth. They kissed leisurely for a few moments before she stood and moved for the door.

"Hey," he said, calling her back.

She turned and looked back to bed where she had just lain with the man she loved with more fervor and passion than she knew existed in the world.

"I'll see you tomorrow. You're going to be great."

Isabella smiled and nodded. "So will you, Edward. You always are."


	16. Pianists dance to their own music

**Thanks for reading and favoriting!!  
**

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**_In heaven pianists can to dance to their own music._ **

Limos were stretched around the entire perimeter of the theater district, clogging up traffic for miles and filling the air with the sounds of blaring horns and pissed off drivers shouting into gridlock.

No one was moving and Edward's stomach was already in knots at the thought of being late. He asked the bus driver to let him off so he could walk the rest of the way.

Hot pops of camera flashes and hoots and hollers let Edward know he was close. Spotlights drew shapes across the black sky. He could see the red carpet rolled up the stairs of the theater, the sidewalk in front jammed packed with fans and ticket holders and members of the press pushing and shoving for a glimpse of them. _Here they come! _Edward ducked around the side of the building and watched the first limo door open and the photogs light up. Another limo then another until finally Sabrina emerged in a purple feathered frock and Isabella stepped out behind her, wearing the same outfit she wore the first night they ever spoke for real, the night of Isabella's last show. Edward would never forget the way Isabella looked that night and the same tingling feeling crept into his toes and the tips of his fingers like it had that first night. The only difference was, then, Edward had no idea he'd one day know what it felt like to ravish the woman he saw before him, to hold her and, for a few sacred moments, be one with her.

Edward watched the woman he loved turn and wave, giving the crowd only the bare-minimum of what they wanted from her, before ascending the stairs and entering the theater.

Curtain call wasn't for another 45-minutes and Edward was pacing alone around the backstage area. Everyone was either in wardrobe and make-up or down in the pit tuning their instruments and pouring over the sheet music one last time. Edward never found warm-ups helpful. If you knew _how_ to play and _what_ to play you could play anywhere, anytime. The rest was for showing off. That's how Edward looked at it.

Every now and then he would peek through the curtain at the dapper men escorting the fabulous ladies to their seats and wonder if tonight would be the night he forgot how to play.

"Hiya."

Edward jumped out of his skin and turned his head without turning his body.

It was Isabella, dressed for the first act in a white bodysuit with lavender leggings, her face powdered pale, her lips pinked and plump, her eyes shadowed and glittered, her hair pulled back to perfection, parted, and sprayed. Her white slippers were tied up her calves and her legs were crossed at her feet in a perfect point.

"H-hey," Edward shifted awkwardly in his rented suit and his brothers wing-tipped shoes.

"You look nice," Isabella smiled sincerely.

"Thanks. I feel like an idiot. You look amazing."

"Thanks. So. Whatcha doin?"

"Y'know, just looking."

"Full house tonight, huh?" Isabella pulled the curtain back and took a look. "Phewooo yeah. That's alot of people."

"I've never played in front of this many people."

"Are you nervous?"

"I feel sick."

"Yep. That's nerves," Isabella leaned in and stole a quick peck of Edward's trembling lips, whispering into his mouth, "But don't be. I'll be right there with you the whole time."

Needless to say the show went off without a hitch. To thunderous applause the company took their final bows and when Isabella returned to the stage there was a tidal wave of flowers thrown at her feet. Edward rose from his stool and clapped, his heart swelling with pride. He knew how hard this was for her, how difficult the routines, how grueling the practice schedule. And to see it unfold perfectly in front of him, to see Isabella's hard work pay off, brought tears to his eyes.

After the audience had filed out, Edward stayed behind with the other orchestra members, congratulating them on a good show and turning down invites for after-show drinks. He had other plans and they included the magical pixie that had taken his breath away for the past two and a half hours. Edward milled around the back keeping to the shadows so he wouldn't be told to leave with the rest of the "help".

Finally he saw Isabella emerge from a side door, still in her leggings and bodysuit. She was instantly at Edward's mouth, pushing him further into the recesses of the backstage area. They clawed desperately at each other's yearning bodies, managing to eke a word out between passionate tongue-filled kisses,_ you were wonderful, spectacular, gorgeous_. Eventually Isabella pulled away and Edward let out a disappointed whine.

"I can't get away. I thought I could but I can't. I have to go to the after-party. Oh god I don't want to go. I just want to be with you. I'm sorry."

"It's alright. You never have to apologize to me."

"I'll find a way to send word tomorrow. I have to go before Demetri..."

Too late.

"There you are, Isabella," the deep voice growled. They cringed at the voice they thought they'd never hear spoken as they stood far too close and they knew their time was up in the worst possible way.

"People are waiting for you. It's very rude to keep them waiting. ...Say goodbye."

**

Rosalie woke to the sound of banging on the front door. She didn't know how long it had been going on but it wasn't the dream she first thought it was. Emmett was working the overnight shift at the mill and if she wasn't nervous about being home without him before, she was now. She felt her way down the hall without turning on any interior lights. She flipped the blinds and opened the door.

"Isabella?" she questioned with squinted eyes. "Is that you? You look so different. ....Are you wearing makeup?"

"I'm so sorry to have startled you at this hour. Please forgive me. I shouldn't have come. They'll be looking for me. I'm putting you in danger but I didn't know where else to go."

"Come inside. Immediately. Come on," Rosalie turned off the porch light and closed the blinds.

"Edward's not here but I'll call over to the house. I'm sure he's there with his friends."

"No, don't. Please don't call. I don't want him to worry. Would you mind...I mean...would it be alright if I stayed here tonight? I'll sleep on the couch and be gone before dawn..."

"You'll do no such thing."

"You're right, I'm sorry, I had no right to ask...please forgive me if I've..."

"That's quite enough out of you, Isabella. You're to stop apologizing at once and you're to sleep as long as need and you're to do so in Edward's room which is at the end of that hall. Do you understand me? You're also expected to have all the tea you like as long as you leave enough water in the kettle for me and Emmett."

Rosalie stopped in her tracks, mid-ramble, and noticed that not all the marks on Isabella's face were put there by makeup. Her eyes were never that shade of purple and her beautiful lips were always pink with gloss, never red with her own blood.

"Isabella? What's happened? Who did this to you?"

"...Edward hasn't told you?" she murmured, looking at the floorboards.

"One thing you'll learn about my dear brother-in-law is that he keeps many things close to his heart. It's a bottomless well and I have a feeling he's extra careful with anything that belongs to you. So the answer is no, he has not told me."

"My boyfriend..." Isabella cringed at the word and the person it was currently associated with. It hurt more than the sting from the wet cuts on her lips.

"...he does this to me."

"_Does_? Meaning this has happened before?" It's an inconceivable thought to a mind like Rosalie's, one that saw the good in all things and all people, one that unflinching believed in the existence of silver linings on clouds and bright sides around every corner.

Isabella nodded, forcing herself to look into Rose's eyes and immediately regretting her decision when she saw them already staring at her.

"H-ow many times?"

"Um, well, it depends..."

"And what does it _depend_ on?" Isabella could tell that Rose was becoming enraged at where the conversation was heading. She sighed and decided to tell a story instead.

"When I first came to this country - when I was _brought_ here - I accepted the way things were to be. I was to dance, every day I was to practice, I was to eat at a certain time, sleep at a certain time, and dance. That's what was expected of me and that's what I _wanted_ to do. I'd do anything I needed to do in order to dance. And Demetri, he saw to it all. He brought me to his penthouse and he let me live there in a room of my own, he taught me how to hold my knife and fork, how to bow politely and sit properly in a chair, he bought my clothes, paid for my studio time, set me up on auditions and when I no longer needed to audition he booked roles for me in some of the most sought after performances in the city.

Then one night it became something more. He called me to his room and of course I went. I climbed the staircase in my nightclothes and let myself in. He was sitting up in bed...and he invited me to join him. It was then that I realized what else was expected of me."

"Oh Isabella," Rosalie was crying, but you wouldn't notice if you weren't looking. Her face wasn't puckered and her eyes weren't red but there were tears in her voice.

"No, it's alright. He can be very gentle, you know. It's only when I misbehaved or disobeyed that he'd...and even then it was only once or twice. But it was the only way. I know it's not right - I never thought it was. My mother never hit me or my brother. Not once. Ever. But if I do as I'm told and don't rock the boat, let him fuck me, let him put me on the mantle and parade me around....I usually don't argue, I take it and go and it's over and we move on. But not this time. I wouldn't let it go this time. I wouldn't agree and I wouldn't obey. And now he knows it's because of Edward. He knows."

"Surely you know that you have to leave there. You have to, Isabella. This is no way for a human being to live. Wrapping yourself up in expensive sheets surrounded by priceless works of art does not provide justification for such behavior. You're being abused."

"You're very kind."

"So are alot of people, dear. It's about time you surrounded yourself with more of _those_ kind."

Isabella wanted to believe her, that people were genuinely good at heart. But if that were true, why was she about to break the heart of the best person she'd ever known?

"He saw us."

"Your _boyfriend_? Saw you with Edward?"

Isabella nodded. "It wasn't the first time either. But tonight...tonight was opening night and after the show, Edward was the only person I wanted to see. He's the only person I ever want to see anymore. When I'm not thinking about him, I'm dreaming of him. ...We said we'd find each other. We promised that somehow we'd sneak away, it didn't matter where. We've been sneaking around the theater for weeks and tonight..." Isabella sighed as she remembered a few hours earlier. "...the show went so well. Everything we've worked for. ...It was perfect. Edward was perfect. He made _me_ perfect. I couldn't have done it without him there to hold me up. It was the largest crowd I've ever been in front of. I was nervous. And I've _never_ been nervous..."

Isabella recalled her first time with Edward, the way he kissed her face and groaned into her mouth as he pushed inside her, and she amended the comment. "_Dancing_ has never made me nervous."

"Then what happened?"

"He told me months ago that I was to have nothing more to do with Edward. He warned me...but I didn't listen. This time he closed the door and locked it. I've never seen him so angry." Isabella couldn't believe it. She was going to cry. Right in front of Rosalie she was going to cry. She hadn't cried since the first time Demetri hit her, and after that, after Demetri laughed at her tears, she swore she'd never cry again. It was time to call herself a liar.

"Please don't tell him about this. Promise me. Please Rosalie. Promise me you won't tell Edward what's happened."


	17. Don't be so hard on yourself

Thank you to those sticking with this story and for being understanding of the relationship between Edward and Alex. I find bisexuality very sexy and have a much easier time of putting Edward with someone I made up than with any of the other Twilight characters except Bella (well, I do like ExR fic but I needed her with Em ;p). It is complex and is vital to how the story plays out in the final chapters.

I do not own Twilight

* * *

**_Don't be so hard on yourself -- that is my job._**

_"He told me months ago that I was to have nothing more to do with Edward. He warned me...but I didn't listen. This time he closed the door and locked it. I've never seen him so angry." Isabella couldn't believe it. She was going to cry. Right in front of Rosalie she was going to cry. She hadn't cried since the first time Demetri hit her, and after that, after Demetri laughed at her tears, she swore she'd never cry again. It was time to call herself a liar._

_"Please don't tell him about this. Promise me. Please Rosalie. Promise me you won't tell Edward what's happened."_

_**  
_

As Edward crept through the door of the artist's house that night, he had never been so disappointed to find everyone awake at 1am.

"Edward! You're in time for movie night. Alex said we couldn't start without you."

"That's right, green eyes," Alex called out from the sofa where he was already sprawled and waiting. "It's vampires and full frontal nudity. I knew you wouldn't want to miss a second."

Edward rolled his eyes and dragged his feet into the living room, the glow of static reflecting off faces, and dropped heavily onto the sofa.

"Let me guess. You picked."

All he got in return was a snarky, sideways smile and comically raised eyebrows.

"How was it, Edward?" Tanya plopped down on Edward's other side, her designated spot. "I passed the theater block on my way home from work and there were loads of people there. Made me nervous just looking at them all in their suits and diamonds. Were you nervous?"

"A little. It was alright, though. It was great. I didn't miss a note and no one tripped and fell so that's a success, right?"

He looked at his hands to signal to the room that he was done with his review. They'd get no more out of him because he was tired and disappointed and a little worried and he couldn't stop thinking of Isabella. Missing her. He wanted to collapse in the nearest bed alone. As the movie started, with Alex pressed against one side and Tanya on the other he couldn't concentrate on the black clad actors, _bad_ actors, and the eerie music and cardboard sets.

He wondered what it would be like if Isabella were there. If she would like his friends, if his friends would like her, if she would talk or be shy and silent, if she would like the movie, what kind of movies does she like, what's her her middle name, would she would kiss him in front of the crowded room? He wondered how Isabella would behave around him in front of people that don't care if they're together, people that were _happy_ they're together. They've never been around people like that. Glancing around he wondered where Isabella would sit if she were there.

Edward turned his head and studied Alex's profile until Alex turned his head and gave him a sweet smile, completely free of the signature smirk. He mouthed '_what',_ glancing down at Edward's lips and Edward didn't miss the gesture, leaning over to give a peck on the cheek. Edward shook his head with a laugh before laying it on Alex's shoulder, resigned to the fact that there was no way in hell that Alex was going to give up his prime movie-spot location. Or any other spot he laid claim to that had anything to do with Edward Cullen, for that matter.

**

That morning Edward woke from a restless sleep just before dawn and only a few hours after the movie had ended and noticed that everyone had retreated to all corners of the house leaving him alone the sofa. He recalled that Alex had tugged at his arm but Edward tugged back and pulled the covers over his head and listened to Alex's footsteps climb the stairs.

He was exhausted as he slipped on his and stepped out into the dim light thinking about how the morning was less of a _waking _and more of a surrender to the nagging worry that kept him tossing and turning, only able to sleep for fleeting minutes at a time. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Demetri's face, terrifying in it's serenity, looming over him. And the subtle iron grasp he took on Isabella's elbow as they were walking away. The subtle shudder he saw run through Isabella's spine as they turned the corner and Isabella didn't look back.

Not once.

The sun was peeking up over the tops of the buildings across the narrow street from his brother's house when Edward hopped down the mossy crumbling stairs that lead to the walkway. He tripped over the cat as she wound between his ankles asking to be let in.

"Alright alright, Duckie, let me get the damn door open first."

The kitchen smelled like fresh scones and his stomach rumbled then dropped when he saw Rosalie in her robe sitting at the table staring down into her tea. She was twiddling her spoon around the edge of the mug and Emmett will tell you that anytime Rosalie is twiddling a spoon something is wrong. She's worried, she's upset, she's thinking about something and if she hasn't spoken about it yet you can bet she will as soon as she gathers her thoughts. That is the exact state Edward finds her in when Emmett is late coming home at night, and when her mother passed away and she didn't have the money to travel across the country for the funeral, when the cat had kittens in Emmett's sock drawer and she was scared to tell him, when Alex and Edward finished with each other and Edward spent three days huddled in their bed.

All those times began with her twiddling her spoon.

"You were worried about me? Did you wait up? Oh Rosalie, I'm sorry I didn't call. I was planning on coming straight here but I was later than I expected and I didn't want to wake you and Em-"

"She's here."

Her voice was quieter than it should be for everyone in the house to be awake. Emmett had long been gone to work and unless there was a new resident that he was unaware of...but there's something in her voice that made it less of a notification and more of a declaration, a kickoff to something bigger.

"Uuhh...She?"

Rose finally looked up at him, setting her spoon on the table and resting her chin on her hands.

"He saw you last night, right? Isabella's boyfriend? After telling Isabella to stay away from you 'or else', he saw you two together. You want to know how I know that? Because she told me when she showed up here last night with the '_or else_' marking her body."

"Oh my god."

He turned on his heel with his heart in his throat, the excitement of knowing Isabella was so close and the misery at how he expected to find her are battling at the back of his skull, but Rosalie stood and grabbed his arm and stopped him. She pushed him gently down in a chair and turned to light the pilot under the blue, iron tea kettle.

"What? I want to make sure she's ok."

"You'll do no such thing. Let the poor thing sleep. I promised her that she wouldn't be disturbed after she swore to me that she'd be out of the house by the time we woke. And no, Edward she's not ok. She's been beaten. _Again_, apparently."

"But-"

"I won't hear it." She pointed a spoon in his face. Rosalie at her most threatening was like a spitting kitten. You listened to her more out of respect that she's _trying_ than that she's actually _threatening._ So Edward shut up, dropped a teabag in his mug, let Rosalie take a heavy seat across from him and kept her voice low.

"She can't keep letting this happen to her. I can't imagine a lifestyle in the world so grand that a person would take daily beatings to keep from leaving it. She can't have any sort of security...or sense of self or accomplishment or...how is she ever to understand what love is when the only person she's involved with is-"

"Not the _only_ person."

"Well as the _other _person how are you going to help her? ...Is it always going to be good enough that you see her for a snatched few moments a day?"

"Of course not."

"Is it ok with you that she's being hit? That she's in fear all the time? Or what about the fact that she sleeps with another man every night?"

Edward cringed with his eyebrows and wrinkled his nose because he couldn't in a million years claim that those words didn't hurt.

"No. _No_ of course that's not ok but...She won't leave. She feels like she..._owes_ Demetri something. That she's indebted to him and this is the way she repays him."

"It's more like _slavery_ if you ask me."

"And she says she doesn't want to place me in danger."

"Well if the man is capable of hurting someone he loves I can't imagine he'd think twice about doing the same, or worse, to you."

"That's what Isabella said."

For the first time Edward noticed a light blue towel draped over the edge of the sink behind Rosalie. It was smeared with makeup and something else and Edward couldn't stop thinking about it and wondering how many towels have been ruined over the years in Demetri's house.

"Well it's nice that she's thinking of you. Edward. If you love her you have to convince her to get away. She has to leave or there's no telling what could happen to her. She'll listen to you. Just talk to her. Tell her she has options and she doesn't owe her life to someone who treats her that way."

"...Does this mean you're going to let me see her?"

Rosalie rolled her eyes and patted his hand muttering _fine fine_ and watched as Edward's eyes lit up like stars. She smiled at him because she couldn't help it and he's racing down the hallway like a child in socks, skidding almost into the wall before opening the door slowly. He wanted to be able to look at her before she awoke. He wanted Isabella to sit still and not have a choice but to let him look at her without blushing or ducking her head or fiddling with her hair in her eyes.

But once Edward got to the edge of the bed all he wanted to do was look away. The entire left side of her face was bruised from jawline to cheekbone, swollen under one eye, her lip split on the top and bottom. Her shirt rode up and hung off exposing one shoulder and for once Edward could think of other things besides running his mouth down Isabella's chest and over her bare breasts, because he was too busy trying to decide if there was anyway that a fist would be strong enough to leave marks like that on a person's ribs. Was it a foot? Had that monster started using objects to hit her with? Then the sight of the fingerprint shaped bruises everywhere made his blood run cold. On Isabella's wrists, at her elbow where Edward saw Demetri grip her with his own eyes, at her throat. Those affected Edward the most because they were person-shaped. They couldn't be blamed on clumsiness or an accident.

The blood was boiling in his skull, face flushing hot, and for the first time he felt tears prick at his eyes as he ran a thumb lightly over Isabella's tattered bottom lip. Tears at the injustice that someone could be cruel enough to hurt _anyone_ like this. But especially Isabella. Edward made sure, as he noticed her eyes flickering to consciousness that his face was free of worry and anger and that the first thing she saw would be his face staring down at her sweetly with a smile that Edward saved only for her.

But, instead of the romantic gesture Edward had hoped for, Isabella quickly pulled back, her eyes going wide as she leaned around him to slip from the bed and to her feet without touching him at all.

She tried to hide her face, her wrists, pulling her shirt down so Edward couldn't see the bruises over her ribs. But it was too late. He knew their color and their width and length and placement and probably the shape of the rings Demetri wore and it hurt him to have seen. But it hurt even more that Isabella wasn't looking at him and was skittering her hands through her hair and reaching for her shoes and trying to hide it with annoyance.

"I didn't expect you."

Edward giggled but clipped it short when Isabella threw a pointed look.

"You're...Isabella you were in my bed."

"I had nowhere else to go. I was supposed to be gone before-"

"Why would you want to be gone before I found you? So I wouldn't see what he's done to you? How long were you planning on avoiding me to hide it?"

Isabella turned her head and stared out the window and her silence seeped like tar down her body, onto the floor until Edward started to drown in it, started to feel it trying to pull his heart through his feet.

"Isabella? How long?"

"They'll cover it up tonight. Make up works wonders, you know. And I don't want you to think...well it's not your fault. I made the decision to keep seeing you-"

"_You_...I think _I_ had a say in it-"

"-and I realize now the...seriousness of Demetri's threat. I would think you would as well."

It's in her voice. Edward heard it there before he saw it on her face or in her eyes. A cracking and thickness.

"What are you saying."

"That...That we can be friends again but that's all."

"Again?? When were we ever _friends_, Isabella? Tell me that."

"I'm sorry. But I can't place you in danger. I can't be seen with you. Edward he'll...I'm _afraid of him_. For the first time in as long as I can remember."

"Then leave!"

"It's not that simple." Isabella stepped forward with tears sitting in the corners of her eyes but she wouldn't let them fall. She kissed Edward's mouth so sweetly before stepping back once, again, again...

"But it _is_ simple to protect _you_."

"I won't let you do this," Edward answered, willing himself to not resort to begging.

"If you come to the house I won't come out. Don't linger around doors or on my street. Don't speak to me because I'll ignore you."

"I've made it to your bedroom before."

"Yes you have. And you can never do that again."


	18. Change your technique

**Author's note:** THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS ALEX AND EDWARD BACKSTORY. IF YOU ARE ANTI-BISEXUALITY THEN YOU SHOULD PROBABLY SKIP IT, EVEN THOUGH IT IS **NOT** GRAPHIC IN NATURE. EDWARD'S RELATIONSHIP WITH THE CHARACTER OF ALEX DOES NOT AFFECT THE WAY HE FEELS FOR ISABELLA. If Edward had never met Isabella, he still would not be with Alex. They got together and broke up for a reason. K? K.

Again, I find bisexuality sexy and have an easier time putting Edward with someone I made up rather than with another Twilight character (other than Bella). I also think it spices things up and adds a different spin to the same basic coupling.

it's also important to future chapters of this story for Edward to have a strong male friend who has deep feelings for him. It will all make sense.

thanks for your open-mindedness :)

* * *

**_It is not my right to change your technique _**

In the old house, the first house they lived in together as a group, Alex would often sleep in the mossy attic for weeks at a time. He had his room downstairs across the hall from Sam's, which was a convenient location for swapping girls, stories about girls, the smell of girls panties, and also for Alex's endless attempts to turn Sam onto the joys of fucking guys. He tried to educate him on the wonders of cock, of giving and receiving, on the difference between the mouth of a girl on you versus the jaw of a man, _It's like getting sucked off by a cold fish versus getting sucked off by a stingray, _Alex would say with a raised-eyebrow smile.

However, even at his most persuasive, Alex wasn't able to sell Sam on the idea of dick, no matter how many nights he made Sam listen to male moans emanating out from under his bedroom door, sounds of wet thighs slapping bare ass and the glorious lion roars that signaled blissful completion. It didn't matter how many times Sam walked in on Alex and boy of the moment in the shower, steam billowing around perfect pink bodies, skin squeaking and gripping against the tiles as ribs and shoulders were raked over lines of grout, or how many descriptions Alex gave detailing what it's like to look down at the muscled back, thin spine, and angled shoulders of the man bucking and groaning underneath you. _You own them then_, if at no other time than at the exact moment you're pushing inside them and they hiss, relinquishing their power and giving it up to you and you are in total control. The power one man has over another. There is no line separating class or race or height or weight. It's the freeing feeling of conquest, of man as animal.

But when Alex wasn't in the mood, when there were more people in the house than he could handle and he didn't want to talk, he'd disappear up the attic steps; the sound of the door quietly meeting the jamb and resting on its springy hinges told the house that Alex wanted to be alone. And in between the boxes and trunks of junk no one wanted but no one wanted to throw away there was a small bed low to the ground with an itchy wool blanket and a thin pillow, and next to it a chair covered with yellowing newspapers and behind that a desk piled high with battered books, and on top of the books a rickety record player that turned worn out vinyl's, and off to the side of that a wire laundry rack where he hung his clothes, and one small square of a window that was difficult to open and almost impossible to close, where he could look out onto the backyard and down to the swing set where he first told Edward he loved him.

His hair was shorter back then but only because he had cut it off to win a girl. He did it himself with a pair of dull plastic scissors and after he got the girl he promptly gloated for the customary week and a half before carelessly letting it grow back in at all angles, tucking it behind his ears, even tying it back with rubber bands or bobby pins just to get it the fuck out of his face. It would be the last time he cut it short, especially after hearing Edward say how much he liked running his fingers through the long strands that lazily fell in front of his eyes and that he couldn't be bothered to push out.

He never brought anyone up to the attic with him. It wasn't exactly a love nest or a place to woo prospective partners, but to Edward that's exactly what it was. The dust, everything covered in drapes of dust, the smell of memories - even if they were not his own - provided a security blanket to someone who was far from home and for whom memories were all that was left.

_I like it up here_, Edward had said the first time Alex led him up the narrow flight of stairs. They had been staying in Alex's downstairs bedroom for about a week since Edward first arrived but now that a boy named Jake had moved into Sam's room the hallway had been turned into a playground filled with things to trip over and slip on.

"If anyone needs Edward and me, we'll be in the attic," Alex told no one in particular, opening the door and grabbing Edward's hand, pulling him up the stairs for the first of many times.

_I think I'll like having you up here_, Alex had said, introducing Edward to the cot with a shove. _Something about you comforts me._

"How long have you played the piano?" Alex asked through a sleepy yawn one summer afternoon as they lay sprawled out on the squeaky bed. Even positioned under the small window there was little ventilation to diffuse the suffocating heat of the attic. They thought they might eventually roast alive like dinner ducks or skinny quails smeared in butter, spread out on what might as well have been an oven rack, yet somehow they still managed to fuck all morning with the sun beating down through the window onto Alex's back.

Edward puffed on the cigarette Alex handed him - he was picking up many of Alex's bad habits - and ashed out the window, the breeze blowing some back inside and landing on their moist skin.

"I think I was five. We didn't have a piano at home so I only played at church. They let me use the organ after mass and after awhile they asked me to play during services and on holidays. When I was nine I won a talent show at school and then a countywide competition at twelve. I thought I'd go to school but my mother turned ill and my father lost his job, so I gave the money to them. They needed it more than me."

"What about your dream?"

"I dunno. It's gone I guess."

Alex sighed deeply. Pulling Edward's wet head onto his bare, slicked chest he kissed the saltiness of Edward's tangled moppy hair, savoring the sting it left on his raw lips.

_We'll see about that_, Alex thought, lighting up another.

**

Walks from his brother's house to the artist common house have always been ones filled with the excitement and anticipation of what awaited him inside those sloped and slanted walls. Between those creaky, unpolished floors there was never a dull moment, even when the house was asleep it was vibrating, and when Edward made his way down the narrow dirt road that snaked its way through dingy broken neighborhoods it was either for movie night where a theme was chosen ahead of time with great debate and selections were watched throughout the evening while popcorn popped and the slurpy sounds of hook-ups could be heard. Or art show night where one member of the household would take over the living area and transform it into their personal gallery, showcasing a particular project they'd been working on in their specific area of expertise - Tanya's pottery, Alice's canvases, Jake's pen and ink drawings.

Dinner night was once a week – when they had the money -and someone would come up with a menu idea and chose a partner and they'd prepare exotic cuisine for the rest of the house - sometimes it was a success (like any time Jasper cooked), sometimes a right disaster (any time Edward had a go). Concert night featured solo or group performances on a makeshift stage set up in front of the fireplace. Alex's acoustic session of his own material was one that stood out in Edward's memory. He had no idea that Alex could even play the guitar, let alone write his own songs and arrangements. Alex never spoke of it and Edward had never heard him play before that night, not once. Then there was Jake's acapella rendition of Christmas classics with Sam on piano back-up that brought the entire room to tears every holiday season.

Edward smiled absentmindedly at the past for the first time since Isabella left with his heart in a Ziploc bag only two hours earlier. _They weren't always good times, Edward. Don't get carried away on a wave of nostalgia._ What about the time you spent the entire walk to the house practicing the lines you were to deliver to Alex, lines that should have come with a rusted razor blade so Alex wouldn't have had to tear apart the medicine cabinet looking for an end to the pain of hearing you say that there was no chance of ever getting back together, that there wasn't even a definite chance of ever being friends again? _And what about the walks that followed immediately after - the one to pick up your things and the one to drop Alex his?_

But even those were summer strolls through Bitsa Park compared to the stretch Edward found spread out before him. Fuck it - relocating to the equator seemed like an ideal alternative.

**

Alex was doing push-ups in the living room. He was bored and feeling characteristically aggressive. The slam of the porch door turned his head as he clapped his hands together.

"That was quick," he panted, rolling onto his back and switching to crunches. "Did you walk in on them having sex again? Gahhhh. Emmett's bare ass. Gross." Alex faked the shivers and brushed imaginary goosebumps from his biceps. Edward joined him in the living room with much trepidation and opened a window; the smell of Alex's musky sweat was making the room humid. If it were anyone else the stench would be foul but even at his grimiest, Alex smelled like a warm horse.

"That I did not. But I _did_ walk in on Isabella sleeping in my bed."

"Ooooh house call. The girl's learning. I might not hate her after all." The jab did not meet with Edward's classic eye-rolling and exaggerated lippy kiss, which was the whole reason Alex did it. It was met instead with exaggerated indifference.

"I'm _joking_, Edward. Christ when did you become so sensitive?"

"It's over."

Alex winced at the phrase, delivered in much the same way it had been delivered to _him_ on a bitter cold day at the end of January.

"Um. _What._ is?"

"She _ended it_. Whatever _it_ was. The greatest, shortest _it_ I've ever known. With a cold brush from her shoulder she wiped herself clean of me. Whatever we were close to becoming...it's gone now."

Without taking the time to grab the towel from the back of the chair to wipe the sweat from his brow and under his eyes, Alex was at Edward's side with a consoling hand and a sincere look of disappointment on his face.

"I'm sorry, Edward." And Edward knew he meant it. There was not a doubt in Edward's mind that Alex was sorry for what happened.

"I know you are. I know it," Edward forced a smile and turned to walk into the kitchen before the tears started to surface. Tanya was pretending to boil water on the stove when in actuality she had overheard every word.

"Make you some tea, love?" Edward nodded and pulled out the ratty wicker chair. Tanya set a mug with a cracked and glued-over picture of Red Square on it and poured steaming water over the tea bag. Alex sat at the other end of the small table and raised his eyebrows at Tanya.

"I'll have a cup, too,_ love_" he grinned sheepishly, just as she was about to return the kettle to the stove. She rolled her eyes and set a mug with no handle in front of him.

"So. What are you going to do?" Alex looked away as the question hit its target. Edward took two full sips and moved the bag slowly around with his spoon before he answered.

"....What am I going to do? Hmm, let's see. First I'm going to have some tea, maybe a piece of toast, then I'm going back to bed. ...Then I'm going to get up and go to the theater."

"But...?"

"_She's_ going to be there? Is that what you're going to say? Brilliant observation, Ally, but I know that all too well. I have to go to work, don't I? I haven't been fired - I don't think - and I sure as shit need the money. I'm going to finish the few shows that are left and after that...I don't know. I don't know anything. .......Pardon me," he pushed back from the table. "I'll take my tea in my room."

"_Our room_!!" Alex called out after him.

Tanya turned to Alex and shrugged. "Well at least he's not acting the way he did when _you two_ split up."

"That's what worries me. Our Eddy-boy cries when the stray dogs fight outside. The love of his life just stomped holes in his heart and he's having a cup of tea?"

Alex decided to follow Edward to his bedroom. The door was closed, but that never stopped him before. The door's been bolted shut with bookcases, even the bed, pulled in front of it to keep him out and it never worked. He always found a way to get in. Notes slipped under the door, _Please let me in, Edward. Let me in and let me show you how sorry I am._ He's waited outside that very door for hours, knowing eventually Edward would have to leave to use the toilet. He's even climbed up the tree in the backyard and hoisted himself in through the window. And he got in again, this time by merely pushing on the knob, as though Edward had purposely left it ajar, a vague symbol of want for company that's crystal clear to Alex.

He sat down on the bed watching Edward open and close the bureau drawers over and over in a vain attempt to find something to wear to that night's show. Alex lost count of the number of times Edward opened the same drawer, stared down into it, closed it, only to re-open it again like it was the first time.

"You don't have to be strong for _me_, Edward," Alex sighed, hands folded in his lap.

"...For _you_? Are you insane? Can we for _once_ not make everything about you?"

"We can try, but it'll never work. Come on. Give us a smile."

"There's nothing to smile about!!! Jesus Christ, Alexander!! Leave me alone, ok? I know you're trying to make me feel better but you can't fix this. I love her. Maybe you can turn it on and off but I can't. When I find it, that's it for me. It's all I want, it's all I think about, it's all that matter. I just need to find a way to get through this. I can't fall apart like I did last time."

"....This isn't the same as last time," Alex answered back but the road is veering far too close to an intersection he had carefully navigated around for many months.

"Sit down."

"I don't want to sit down."

"Edward SIT _DOWN_."

And Edward sat. And there was quiet. Alex waited, his eyes fixed firmly on the crack in the wall at the other end of the room, a crack that an attempted body slam during he and Jake's wrestling match put there last summer. Suddenly the silence was broken by the sound Alex was waiting for. Edward's chin had fallen to his chest and muffled gasping sob-chokes, timed like contractions, were bursting from his chest like silent rapid-fire. Alex opened his arms and it's all he had to do. Edward tumbled inside his embrace and Alex held him there, like a child without a mother, close, non-sexual, with no words of false hope or trite encouragement.

"Let it out, baby. That's right. Let it out. Your Ally's here."

"Stay with me," Edward croaked.

"I always will."

And there they fell asleep in each others arms as the cruel morning handed off to the uncertain afternoon. Piled against the wall, Alex's head half on a pillow, half on the mattress and Edward laid across his chest, exhausted from his marathon of tears.

That night's performance, and the night after that and the night after that, were nothing but dull blurs of black and white keys under the command of his precise fingers. He didn't hear the orchestra, didn't think about whom he was playing for or what that person looked like or the distance between them, because the distance was interminable, the person was a stranger, and the music didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was the playing, the technique. That's how Edward had to look at it if he expected to get through it. _It's business._ _I'm here to play and when I'm done I exit stage right with the rest of the help._ Push the gut-wrenching, spirit-twisting pain to the floor and leave it there under your boot. It's the only way. It was slow torture to keep that mantra in mind and not stray, not look up, not let her in. Was Isabella looking at him? Was she still perfect? Each night on the bus ride back to his brother's he'd cross the night off on his mental list. _Four down, three to go_. _Five down, two to go, almost there, six down, one left_, and when it was over, when the curtain closed at the end of the final night, Edward breathed a sigh of relief knowing that it was finally over and he could open his eyes.

**

"There's a letter for you, sweetie," Rosalie chirped, handing Edward the stiff cream-colored envelope and standing anxiously over his shoulder while he opened it. She'd been staring at it all afternoon while she waited for Edward to return from his second full day of job hunting, holding it up to the light in the hopes that she might be able to make out what it said.

"Hello to you too," Edward kidded, giving her a raspberry kiss and ripping open the top corner. His face instantly turned to ash.

"It's from the studio. It's the practice schedule for the next show. It's all here. Three months worth of sessions. Six days a week," he held it up to Rose in disbelief. "That's three more months of work."

"Are you sure, honey? After everything that's happened? Do you really want to go back there and face her? Maybe you should play for someone else."

"There's no one else."

"Nonsense. It's a big company. I'm sure they could use..."

"No. I mean....There's no one else for _me_."

"....Have you tried to reach her?"

Edward lowered his head like a scolded dog. "She doesn't want me to contact her. She said she'd ignore any and all attempts."

"And you_ believe_ her? You're not even going to try?"

"You weren't there, Rosalie. You didn't hear what she said. The way she said it. _ Instructing_ me on how things were to be moving forward, like I was an employee. You didn't see her face."

"On the contrary, my dear. It's _you _who did not see her face. When she left this house. When she turned to me like someone had just run over her puppy. She thanked me and asked me for my forgiveness."

"She _did_? Forgiveness for what?"

"I don't know. She didn't say. All she said was,_ Please forgive me for what I've done._ I can still feel her tears on my cheek."

"She...she was crying?"

Rosalie smiled and cupped Edward's jawbone in the palm of her hand. "You can't turn love on and off like the bathroom tap, sweetie. ...I believe it was you who told me that."


	19. It makes no difference

Just remember - it always gets worse before it gets better. Sometimes lots worse.

Thanks for hanging in there. This is a shortish chapter just to move the plot along :)

I do not own Twilight.

* * *

**It makes no difference how high your leg is, if it is not correct**

The studio hadn't changed. Did Edward honestly think it would? It had only been a week since the final performance. Work work work. Right back to work. Edward knew Demetri's money making motto all too well. Isabella had told him how Demetri worked his dancers to the bone, from show to show to show with very little break in between.

Except for her of course. After a performance wrapped Demetri usually whisked his star talent to France or Italy where he wined her, dined her, fucked her, primed her before bringing her back to start the cycle again. Edward wondered what exotic location they had gone to this time. Had it really been a week since he had last seen Isabella? By the dressing rooms after the show shaking hands with someone in a tall furry hat and long woolen coat. Had it been even longer since he'd last been inside her, since he'd caressed her flawless skin? And since when did porcelain feel like velvet and bruise like the skin of a plum? Perfect bruises. Isabella's body interpreted abuse as artwork and showed it off in prisms of gorgeous shapes and colors.

**

Time had rewound and Edward was once again at the piano, staring into his hands. Nicolai was cursing under his breath in Russian about the leak in the roof and the drip in the bathroom faucet, asking no one in particular what the FUCK it takes to get some decent help around here. Isabella had just arrived and dropped her bag on the classroom chair. Any minute now she'd being lacing up her slippers and pulling on her wool warmers. It was chilly - another bitch-fest from Nicolai about how the heat never works properly was no doubt on the way - so she'd most likely wear a long shirt with the neckline cut out. Edward raised his eyes without lifting his head and looked at Isabella through the corner of his right eye. She'd cut her hair. Not much, but it was definitely shorter. The curls that gathered at the base of his neck, that soaked up the sweat and released it down her shoulders like lines of paint dribbling down a wall, have been brought up. _That wasn't her decision_.

"Alright that's enough chit-chat girls," Nicolai yipped sarcastically, waltzing in barefoot and wrapping a scarf around his neck. "Christ it's like a morgue in here. Let's get started shall we? Your benefactor has my feet to the fire on this one, Isabella. He's insisting on perfection. Evidently this is the hottest ballet of the season. Everyone who's anyone already has a ticket to opening night. No pressure."

Isabella walked to the center of the floor without so much as a look in Edward's direction and got into first position. Nicolai paced behind her and motioned to Edward.

"From the top."

**

"That was lovely, Edward," Nicolai said with little sincerity. "It's nice to see you again. How about tomorrow you arrive on time? Yes? That'd be wonderful. Alright then, Isabella? The routine is going tremendously well already. As if there ever was any doubt. Tomorrow Alexei will join us and you two can get re-aquainted. Yes? Very good."

And with that Nicolai dashed from the room, leaving Edward and Isabella alone in the void. Exactly what Edward dreaded and precisely what he was hoping for. Maybe it would be like old times, like how they used to wait with stomachs buzzing for Nicolai to leave so they could rush each other and have those few fleeting moments pressed against the mirrors, hands everywhere, touching everywhere, and maybe Edward could get his mouth around Isabella's nipple this time if they were reeeeally quiet. _Have you ever eaten out before, Isabella?_ But there was never enough time for that, only enough time for desperate mouths and longing tongues muttering unfinished thoughts and half-answered questions.

"The first and third movements were in the wrong key." Isabella's voice was sudden and harsh, cutting the room in half. "And the tempo was off. Remember that for next time. This piece is in three-quarter time."

She stuffed her slippers and shirt into her bag without bothering to look up at the person she was addressing.

Yep. Just like old times.

Edward didn't move. Not only was his playing perfect note for note, what the_ fuck_ did Isabella know about movements and measures, keys and chords? And since when did she ever critique him except to tell him to stop looking so sexy when he played, that it was distracting?

Finally Isabella looked up, appearing annoyed that Edward had the nerve to remain in her presence after being so obviously dismissed.

"That will be all."

"....Of course it will," the knife twisted in Edward's stomach. "Have a pleasant evening."

Isabella pulled on her coat and gathered her bag on her shoulder without returning the sentiment.

Edward remained in the studio and walked over to the panel of switches on the wall, turning them all off with one swipe of his hand. He then went back to the piano and sat in the dark, talking only to her, running his fingers up and down her keys without applying pressure. It's an eroticism that only a pianist can understand. She's been a good instrument to him and he was going to miss their times together.

"Hey Anna," Edward said, shuffling out of the studio and closing the door behind him. He noticed since they first met that Anna startled easily, shaky like a newborn fawn on fresh legs. He'd always approached her carefully and with a gentle tone of voice even at his most heightened emotional state, of which now would be a good example. She was a mild-mannered desk clerk situated on the front line, exposed daily to some of the scummiest examples of high-society; snobs who took advantage of every opportunity to remind her of her role and who looked down their nose at her inferiority, and for that Edward pitied her.

"Hello Mr. Cullen," she answered. "You sounded wonderful tonight."

"Thanks, luv. Listen, is Nicolai here?"

"No, sir. He left right away muttering something about private lessons for ungrateful orphans."

"Ah. Well that's good, I guess. I'll be off then. Unless you'd like me to wait with you until your ride arrives."

"That's very kind of you, sir, but I'll be alright. It won't be but a moment. See you tomorrow?" Her voice trapped him before he was able to reach the front door.

"Ehm. I uh, I had hoped to speak with Nicolai first, but since he's not here," Edward re-approached the desk, wishing she didn't still find it necessary to take that tentative step back.

"I'm. not coming back."

He could tell by her unflinching eyes that she was confused by even that simple statement. He elaborated.

"I will not be returning after tonight. I've decided that this session was my last."

Her face was still puzzled so he carried on.

"I will not be continuing my employment here...at this studio. It was lovely seeing your smiling face each day. It will be one of the things that I miss the most." He reached across the desk and picked her limp, warm hand up in his own. She didn't jerk it away so he took it one step further and brought her hand to his lips. She didn't resist so he took it even further and pressed his lips firmly against the delicate bird bones of her middle and index fingers and kept them there until he felt her arm begin to tremble.

"I'll miss your music, Mr. Cullen. Listening to you play brought great joy into my life. I will make a point to remember what it sounded like every day that I am here and you are not."

"That's the highest compliment I could ever hope to receive, Anna. I'm honored to have brought you pleasure."


	20. It takes strength to hide strength

**It takes strength to hide strength**

"You _quit_??!" Alex screeched in a fairy voice so high-pitched and foreign that Edward couldn't be sure that it actually came from the throat of the man standing before him hacking on a mouthful of crackers.

"Why would you do that? I thought you needed the money?"

"Of course I need the money." Edward kicked a half-deflated football across the gravel driveway while Alex lit up a smoke on the porch steps. "...but I can't do it. I can't go back to the way things were. It was like I was in some fucked up time warp. Like the last month and a half never happened. Like we never fucked, like she never showed up at my house in the pouring rain to see me after her boyfriend beat her, like she never said all those beautiful things she said to me about my playing, about my...anyway. All those stolen moments and secret meetings, maybe I imagined them all."

Alex bounded down the stairs, stealing the ball away from Edward and kicking it into the overgrown yard. He hung an arm around Edward's shoulder and gave him his cigarette.

"It will be alright, rosebud. You can come back here if you'd like. To stay, that is. I'll even take Jasper's room while he's gone, to show you that I'm not trying to...well, _you know_. It'll be hard…I mean, _difficult_, but I'll do it," he winked playfully.

"That's sweet, honey. But thanks. I don't know. It's so new, so raw. I think I'm still in denial. I have my bad days and my not so bad days."

"And how's today?"

"I can't tell yet."

**

_*Weeks later*_

Alex had a cold._ Another_ one, and the house was secretly fretting. Hot water was always in the kettle, extra blankets had found there way onto his bedspread, vitamins were cut in two and smushed into his oatmeal, and he'd been nonchalantly urged to an earlier bedtime for a week straight. Right now he was lounging on the sofa listening to the radio and making the most of the extra pampering he pretended not to notice.

"Not too well done, Alice-dear. I know you like your toast burnt to a black charcoal but I prefer mine browned lightly. Ask Edward. He'll know when to take them out."

"Ask me what?" Edward repeated, shuffling into the kitchen with a cup of tea between his hands. He peered at Alex in living room yelling at the game and then to Alice burning her fingers as she fished bread out of the toaster. Edward took the appliance away from her and turned it upside down - two lightly browned pieces of toast fell onto the plate. He had found the interesting toasting contraption discarded on the side of the road one day on his travels through the posh side of town and had brought it home like it was the Holy Grail.

"...I'll pop out and get some cough syrup and licorice lozenges. They're his favorite," he smiled and handed her the butter. "Not too much. Lightly browned and lightly buttered. I'll be back in a few."

The pharmacy was located at the crossroads of town - a place where all walks of life found their common humanity - we all get sick, we all bleed, we're all human. It's the one place that knows no class, where everyone on line has something in common. You can see it in their eyes.

Edward headed to the middle aisle; he knew his way around all too well. He rifled though his pants pocket and pulled out a handful of change and a few crumpled bills and let out a sigh of relief. _There's enough._ He picked up a small bottle of cherry flavored cough syrup - Alex hated cherry, he preferred grape, but he'd have to deal - and a canister of throat lozenges. Maybe he should get a newspaper for the want ads.

Heading to the front of the store he suddenly stopped in his tracks only a few steps away and an aisle over from a full on collision with - if that fedora and full-length fitted coat looked the same on the body as they did on the floor of his room - Isabella.

It took a few seconds for him to realize that what was missing were the trademark long, dark curls snaking their way out from under the confines of that perfectly placed custom-made hat. Out of nowhere she turned, her selection from the shelf complete. The expression on her face was a closed-mouth one full of shock and elation at the sight of Edward, but she quickly changed it back to an unaffected, emotionless mask.

"What are you doing here?"

"Picking up some medicine. You?"

"Muscle cream," Isabella looked down at it to make sure it was still in her hand. "Is that for Alexander? He's not ill again, is he?"

"He'll be fine. It's just a cough."

"Ah," Isabella rocked awkwardly on the heels of her boots. "You stopped coming to the studio. They told me you're not coming back."

"That's right. I figured it's... "

"Nicolai's livid."

"Is he. Well I'm sure he'll find someone else soon enough that he can be disappointed in." He forced a snorty laugh, but there was so much more he wanted to say and none of it had anything to do with the awkward rubbish he was making up. He's wasting time, he's letting the moment slip away, he could feel it going, Isabella - his love - was right in front of him by chance and this was how he chose to capitalize on the moment???

"Um, so, who are they using?"

"They found a vinyl recording of the ballet. We're using that but it skips constantly and it's not the same as having..."

"...live music."

"..._you_."

Edward felt the blush rising to his cheeks and looked up and down the aisles, but Isabella didn't move.

"So. How are you?" she asked.

"...I'm fine, yeah, just, y'know, Alex gets this nasty cough every few months and acts like a right prick, so we're all on edge but, what can ya do, he's a friend and..."

"He loves me. ....He tells me all the time."

"...Sorry? Say again? He what now? He...._Loves you_?" Edward couldn't believe the sudden direction the conversation had taken and with such proud conviction Isabella had just uttered those words.

"Isabella, he _hits_ you. He abuses you physically and mentally and I'm not sure which is worse. You call that _love_?"

".....He only does that when I make him angry or if I embarrass him..."

"How could _you_ embarrass _anyone_?"

"Or if he thinks I'm going to leave him. He wouldn't get so angry if he didn't love me, right?"

"No Isabella," Edward shook his head into his hand, suddenly realizing the extent of her repression at the hands of her "mentor". "That's _not_ right. You don't hurt someone you love. You just...you just _don't, ok?_"

"I hurt you."

"I meant _intentionally_ and...wait…so….. what are you saying? ......That you…_love_ me?"

"It doesn't matter what I think...or what I feel. If he ever found out we were together, if he found out we were _talking_ _right now," _she looked over her shoulder at the car waiting outside with Maxwell behind the wheel.

"I have to go."

"Wait," Edward reached out and took her elbow, the shock of the electricity between them still alive and pushing through their skin.

"Before you go, I want you to know something. I want to be with you. And I'm willing to take any risk to do so. _Any_. And don't try to use examples of gruesome murder scenes to scare me. I know what danger is, and I can honestly say without reservation that the only thing that scares me is the possibility that you will get in that car right now and I'll never see you again. So call me a risk-taker. ..........Whether or not you want to do the same is your choice. I cannot make that decision for you."

Isabella fought back the tears before they fell and with a quivering lip, muttered, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Edward. I have to go."

**

Isabella barged out of the theater early without alerting anyone and without greeting the fans, but she didn't care. She strode down the back alley streets of town in an attempt to clear her head. Her performance was fair, and even at fair she blew everyone away, but her practices had been shit. She couldn't concentrate. She didn't want to. She didn't want to do anything without Edward. There was no motivation in any of it anymore.

After forty minutes of aimless wandering in the harsh dead of night, Isabella found herself outside a small jazz club with exciting upbeat music coming from inside. It wasn't in the best part of town but it was in one of the better. Regardless, Demetri would be furious if he found out that she had even walked past such an establishment.

She stepped through the door and hung her coat on the hook. It was dimly lit and small and warm inside. She knew she wouldn't be noticed. No one there cared who she was or thought she was. They were there to drink and smoke and listen to music. She sat at the edge of the bar and ordered a sherry. She had some money left over from the meager allowance Demetri gave her that she was saving in a silk handkerchief stuffed under her stockings in the bottom drawer of her dresser. She sat and drank and as she drank she thought of going back to America. On the surface her life was turning out exactly like she planned it, yet underneath it all she longed for the one thing that money and fame and success could never bring her. The love of one man. Slowly the sound of the piano start creeping into her mind and she turned towards the back of the room to find Edward on stage. It was a wooden, barely-there excuse for a stage and the piano was old and the air was smoky but Edward had everyone in the room looking at him, including Isabella.

What were the odds that it would be him up there? She needed to get closer to be sure. She'd know that tousled copper hair and those angular pale features anywhere, but she needed to be closer. She stood, leaving her glass behind, and walked through the doorway separating the bar area from the stage.

Nicolai told Demetri that Isabella had a tantrum and stormed out immediately after the performance, without so much as taking off her make-up. After pushing down his rage at her insolence, his search through every coffee shop and establishment finally brought him through the door in time to see the back of her unmistakable hair walking deeper into the club. He flung his hat and coat at the barkeep and dashed through the interior.

Edward had finished his set and was descending from the stage when his eyes landed on Isabella with Demetri behind her. He watched as Demetri talked close into Isabella's ear. He watched as Demetri pushed his hand up the back of her neck rubbing her hair and then sweeping it down her back. He kissed her lightly on her temple and Edward turned just in time to hear him tell her, "I shouldn't have found you in a place like this, Isabella. There are bad people here that could hurt you. You don't want any of our friends to see you coming out of this place, do you? You don't. Trust me angel."

Edward flinched in disgust and took that as his cue to dart out the back door and into the night air that had just begun to pour buckets.

A voice called out to him through the deafening sound of rain flooding the streets

"Edward!"

He kept walking. Head down. His hands stuffed into the pockets of his tattered overcoat.

"Edward wait!" He turned around and Isabella stopped breathing. The water was pouring down his face and over his lips and his hair was jet black and spiked.

"He's right!" Edward called out before Isabella could begin. "You shouldn't be out here. You shouldn't be seen with me." He meant it. Isabella was out of his league. He knew it. So talented, too good for him. Isabella was embarrassed that Edward had heard what Demetri said. She didn't want him to think that she was like that, because she wasn't. She knew how it looked. But she didn't know what to say.

Edward began to walk away, backwards at first, not breaking eye contact. Then he stopped, deciding to go for broke...

"He's wrong about one thing though. ...We're not bad people, Isabella. There is no one in there," he pointed towards the building they just exited. "...that would ever hurt you."

As soon as the words escaped Edward's mouth and he moved to turn, Isabella darted forward, running as fast as she could towards him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him to the side of the building under a ledge and they were close and pressed with one shoulder against the wall trying to get out of the rain. They stared at each other for a moment, having not been in such close proximity to one another for so long and they were touching and memorizing and remembering and still stunned by how the other made them feel. Edward leaned down to kiss her and Isabella stood up on her tippy toes to receive his kiss and to kiss back with her tongue and weeks of pent up passion and frustration.

Finally managing to catch her breath, Isabella remembered why she pulled Edward over.

"I want you to come back." Her eyes were wide and darted between Edward's. His hands were wound tightly around her tiny waist, pulling her flush to his chest.

"I quit, Bella. I doubt Nicolai will hire me back. I fucked him over."

"I don't care," she panted, smoothing her hands over Edward's wet face, tracing her thumb over his wet lips. " I'll talk to someone...whoever I have to. I'll tell him to hire you back. Or you can work for _me_ and not the damn studio. I..I need you...to play, I mean. For me."

Her voice shook and strained with conviction. She seemed so adamant about the idea that Edward was a little confused, a little overwhelmed.

"I...I don't...I'm not..."

"Tonight, you weren't there. And yet, you _were_ there. I still felt like I was dancing for you, like I used to. ...Maybe I just need-" Her words were lost to the downpour and her sentence, her spontaneous confession was cut short by Demetri calling her name from the street. She turned to see him standing under a large black umbrella looking at her in something close to shock.

"I have to go. I'll talk to them. Alright? I need you to play for me. You'll say yes if I ask you?"

Edward nodded, unable to bring himself to smile because Isabella was watching his lips and he was watching hers, trying to figure out what all this meant because standing in a dirty alley in a downpour, soaked to the bone with a princess didn't happen to him everyday.

"I'll come back to this place on Friday night. I really hope you're here too."

And Edward finally found his voice. ".....I'll be here."

Demetri waited in the limo and Isabella was about to pull the handle and open the door to get in when she heard Edward yell out after her.

"I won't take your money! I won't let you pay me to play for you!"

The words shredded Isabella to her knees. She understood what he meant. Edward didn't want to be indebted to her, he didn't want to be her employee. She hesitated, wanting the driver to drive off without her, wanting to run back to Edward and walk away with him somewhere, anywhere, slowly in the rain for hours. She wanted to hear more of his voice...the voice that dripped with syrup and molasses. She wondered if he could sing.

"Don't worry! We'll...I'll work it out!" She slid into the car and slammed the door and the limo took off. She sighed against the leather seat and laid her head back, staring at the roof.

"What was that all about, Isabella?" Demetri asked with jealousy under his tongue.

"Nothing. It was nothing."

"Who was that man?" Isabella was filled with relief that Demetri hadn't recognized Edward.

"No one." Isabella shivered, soaked through to the bone and Demetri noticed her trembling bottom lip.

"I'll have you out of those clothes and into a warm bath as soon as we get home, my darling. Have I told you how magnificent you were tonight?" Demetri purred into her ear as she thought about Edward's face.

Edward went to Isabella's show that Friday night, sneaking in to watch it from the rafters with the rest of the street rats huddling together for warmth. Even though he hadn't worked with her this time around, he knew her body well enough to tell that her performance was technically perfect. He also made sure to notice every mistake from the pianist. Nothing technically wrong, like misplaced notes or flubs in timing. It was the fact that the pianist couldn't _feel_ her; he didn't know to hold the note longer even though it wasn't written in the music, but that doing so would make the swoop of her leg seem even more dramatic. He was starting too soon and rushing her. Edward knew how to lead Isabella's body with the music. _That pianist_, Edward decided, _is there for himself. To get a check. He doesn't care about the artist._

After the curtain fell, Edward kept his eyes open for Isabella and eventually saw her being led out of the theater by the hand and towards a waiting car. She was looking at the ground with the hood of her long wool coat pulled over her head. Edward could only see the tip of her nose and the edge of her lips.

It took him over an hour on the bus to get to the club but when he walked inside, Isabella was already there, sitting in a corner booth with her legs sprawled the length of the seat, writing in a small book and leaning back against the wood. She was dressed demurely to blend in with her shabby surroundings and Edward was struck by how much she looked like someone who, in another life, could have been his friend.

"Good evening, Isabella," he said politely, looking down at her looking up at him. It was late and she looked tired. "How was the show?"

"It went well."

"I was there."

"I know. I saw you."

"You did? I didn't know. You didn't seem to-"

"There's a lot you don't know about me. For example, I'm always looking at you. You'd never know it though. It's another talent of mine. It's all part of the façade."

"Isabella," Edward sat next to her, the heat from her legs attacking him and he wanted to push her down in the booth and crawl on top of her warmth. As if she was reading his mind she put her hand on his chest and held him at bay.

"Edward, please." The smell of him, the manly musky scent assaulted her and her head began to spin. He leaned in closer, relentless and oblivious to the patrons around him.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"…no," she breathed, turning her head slightly but not too far so she wouldn't be able to smell him.

"Am I too close?" he whispered, licking his bottom lip.

She gulped and nodded.

"Do you not want me to be this close to you ever again?"

Her breath hitched and she flicked her eyes at him. "What I want has nothing to do with any of my decisions. Don't you understand that? If I could truly have what I wanted, Edward, it would be you." Her hand found his under the table and she slid their fingers together.

"Then what is it? What's keeping you from me? It can't be him. You can't let him…"

"Dem-_ he_ has a certain...view...of what's best for me-"

"But _you_ decide what's best for you."

"Edward, he pays for everything I have. I would have nothing if it weren't for him. He's responsible for getting me jobs and-"

"So you're basically a prostitute."

"..._what_?"

"A kept woman." Edward clarified. "Is that what you are?"

"You have no right..."

"What happens to the money from the theater, hm? Where does that go? He takes it, doesn't he? As retribution?"

Isabella was silent, looking down blankly. Edward lifted her chin to meet his eyes.

"You don't need him, Isabella. _You're_ the one with the talent. Not him. You could go anywhere, your name is known. You could get a permanent commission with the Bolshoi or even go back to America!"

"What about you? Do you have any idea how incredibly talented _you_ are? You could be playing for the Philharmonic, not some crappy little dance studio, living on crumbs and hand outs."

Edward winced at the sting in her words. She was getting defensive and surly but he didn't shout back. He kept his voice even and spoke into the backs of Isabella's eyes with more honesty than she had ever heard.

"I play there because of _you_. If you played for the Philharmonic, then that's where I'd play."

"I have to go."

"No!" Edward exclaimed, refusing to let go of her hand as she tried to pull it out of his grasp. "Don't go. Stop going back to him," he begged. "Stop leaving me."

**

Demetri rolled off Isabella with a deep satisfied groan and reached for his cigarette case. Isabella pulled the sheet over her naked and violated body and stretched her legs straight down the mattress, feeling the blood rush through the starved vessels deprived of oxygen from being lifted in the air and over Demetri's shoulders for over an hour. She eyed Demetri's cigarettes but knew she'd never be given one.

"You were very tight tonight, Isabella. I almost couldn't get inside you. Playing hard to get? What's the matter? Allow me to catch my breath and we'll do it again. I want to fuck you again already."

Demetri leaned on his side, his sweaty black chest hairs curling against Isabella's arms. She tried to hold back the cringe of disgust. The heavy, hulking body laying next to her...did she ever find it arousing? She must have at one point...before she knew any different...before she knew what it felt like to be held and touched and ravished....and _asked_. _Is this what you want? Does it feel good when I do this? Do you want more? Do you want me to stop? Tell me. Tell me what you want and I'll do it. I'll do anything to bring you pleasure._

"Kiss me," Demetri ordered, trying to sound seductive, but those childish tactics wouldn't work with her anymore – not now that Isabella knew the alternative. Yet she obeyed and closed her eyes, wanting to pretend that it was Edward she was kissing but not wanting to associate the cracked dry lips pressing against hers with Edward's moist, sweet tulip mouth.

Demetri lit up his cigarette and took a long, exaggerated drag. He saw Isabella looking hungrily at the smoke and grinned.

"Now, now. No such toxins for you, my darling. Leave those bad habits to me."

Isabella faked an understanding smirk and rolled on her side, shoving her hands under her head, and letting the invisible tears fall as she waited for the nudge of Demetri's hardness against her ass, knowing that the paw would soon sweep down the length of her spine, and she'd remind herself over and over, with each disgusting thrust, that it was better this way.

**

There was a knock on Edward's window. Just a tap barely loud enough to wake him but it persisted and when he sat up and blinked at the clock it showed 3:30 in the morning. He had only been asleep for fifteen minutes straight after tossing and turning for hours after returning home from the club. To put it mildly, he had been stunned to see Isabella at his new place of employment, which he had found thanks to Alex actually. Alex had an on-again/off-again "thing" with Irena, the bartender at the no-name jazz joint, and pulled the appropriate strings – meaning he fucked her when she begged instead of blowing her off – to secure Edward a late-night spot playing piano in the back room three times a week.

He walked to the first floor window and peeked outside to find the source of the racket but saw no one. He pulled it open by the latch and moved to push his body out for a better view when suddenly someone was clambering inside, throwing themselves at him, barreling over the sill. Edward fell back onto the bed and Isabella was on him, kissing him and pulling at him violently, sobbing into his throat as she pulled his shirt over his head and bit his chest, licking over his nipples and fumbling with his pajama bottoms. There was only the weak light of the moon in the room but they knew each other by scent and breath and sounds and they grabbed at each other blindly, yet expertly, in the dark.

They were both naked in a matter of seconds and Isabella pushed Edward onto his back, straddling him at the waist. His chest rose and fell in deep, panting breaths as he watched Isabella wrap her hand around his shaft and begin stroking. He groaned in ecstasy and bent his legs. Isabella raised herself up his length and took a deep breath before lowering herself onto his throbbing erection. She bit down on her bottom lip to stifle her own cries and covered Edward's mouth with her soft palm. Edward's eyes widened in absolute fucking shock at the sight above him, her silken hair flowing over her shoulders and down her breasts, her thighs clenching and releasing around him, her tears drying on her cheeks in salty lines. He thrusted upwards to meet her downward grinds and it was rough and fast, their skin slapping rapidly and Edward watched in amazement as their bodies connected and he disappeared inside her over and over. He spread his legs wider to give her more room and she reached back to brace herself on his knees as she rode him to completion.

As soon as they both came, Isabella kissed Edward's face several times, peppering his flushed skin with small butterfly kisses before pulling their bodies apart and tugging her clothes back on in the dark. With a fleeting look over her shoulder she climbed out the window and was gone. From start to finish it hadn't lasted more than fifteen minutes. There was no evidence that she had even been there except for her scent on Edward's small bed. For what could have been hours or minutes, Edward remained flat on his back with his sweat and semen drying on his naked body and he stared at the open window next to his bed, the thin curtain blowing in the crisp night air and he thought about what had just happened, and how it happened without one single word spoken between them.


	21. All I want is the best you can do

Drawn out and torturous. That's exactly how it should feel, that's how it feels to ExB, so that means it's working ;p

There really is no rhyme or reason to how frequently I update, btw. I try to post as soon as it comes to me.

As far as historical details, I do my best to research the time period when I come upon a specific reference that I'm unsure of (ie: Would the type of piano that Edward plays exist in 1917? yes. Was the toaster invented yet? yes. Would cough syrup and throat lozenges and muscle cream be available? Was soccer broadcast on the radio? etc etc.) If I miss things, I apologize. Sometimes I get on a roll and forget to go back to double check. Certain words, like "tights" or "leggings", I'm just going to assume you know what I mean even if it's not the way they were referred to back then. And yes, jazz was around...I put the link in my profile. I'm shocked the birth control question hasn't come up yet. I've been ducking around that one big time, lol

* * *

**All I want is the best you can do**

"Why?"

It was the first word Edward finally managed to eke out the third time Isabella slid through his open window. As she pulled his shirt over his head and he ran his hands over her supple bare breasts like he'd never seen them before in the narrow ray of moonlight on the bed, Edward laid her down, bracing her head with the back of his hand like a baby and positioned her legs over him, readying her. Before pushing in he asked once more, "Why? Why are you doing this?"

Isabella stopped fondling his erection and licking beads of sweat from his chest and looked up at him with vulnerability in her eyes that shook Edward to his core.

"…I don't know how else to be with you."

**

Isabella didn't know where Demetri was. She looked in his study. The light was off and his pipe was sitting on top of his hard covered book were it always was. She looked in the dining room, in the library, the music room, and now she was ending the search in their bedroom suite.

"Demetri, darling, are you here?" Isabella peeked her head in the bathroom, the dressing room, the master bath. Nothing. She pulled her coat off and threw it on the bed instead of hanging it on the coat rack like a lady. That would drive Demetri batty but Isabella didn't care. She'd just seen Edward.

He'd shown up at the studio for practice, just like he said he would. _Her_ Edward. And he looked the same. The perfect same. The same deep sea-green eyes, the same abstract creation of bronze hair, the same nervous twitter and selfless demeanor, always caring about others, always asking, always checking.

Isabella floated to the other side of the bedroom and kicked off her boots. _He smelt the same. I know he did. And if I had leaned into his neck I would have smelled the familiar cedar apple cinnamon mix. Not of cologne or soap, but of him, his skin, and yes pale has a smell that belongs to Edward alone._

Isabella sat on the bed with a joker grin across her face and took the small bottle of medicated muscle cream out of the bag. It was then that she heard the door to the front room open and Demetri's heavy step enter.

"Repugnant meeting with the council for the arts this afternoon," Demetri spoke as though he had been in mid-conversation with Isabella the entire time. "Know-nothing hacks, if you ask me. Which of course they didn't. They better have the theater renovations completed in time for opening night."

He was in the walk-in closet hanging up his suit jacket and pulling off his designer tie and leather belt. Isabella wondered if he even noticed that she was in the room.

"That's what I told them and that's what I'll get if they expect any more funding out of me."

He was back in the bedroom now, changed into a casual button-down shirt and lounge pants that Isabella found hideous and extremely geriatric.

"And how are you, my beauty? What did you do today? Go shopping?" Demetri sat on the bed and placed a nauseatingly vodka-drenched kiss on Isabella's lips.

"You've been drinking. Did you go out after the meeting?"

"Wellllll someone's observant. I didn't realize I had to check in with you..."

"You don't."

"...if I want to go out somewhere."

"You don't."

"Here. Give me that. I'll put it on you," Demetri said, reaching for the tube of ointment.

Normally Isabella would spread out across the bed and let Demetri remove her of her clothes and fully submit to him while he smeared the white paste all over her legs, arms, chest, shoulders and buttocks, massaging it deep into her thigh muscles, working and working it into the tissue with his knuckles and powerful stout fingers, and Isabella would wince when he hit a tender area, wishing he knew enough to stop, to realize it was hurting, but she knew it was what he liked, the kneading and the molding, it's what turned him on.

Isabella snatched it out of Demetri's hand. "No I can do it."

"What do you mean _NO_?'

"I mean, it's alright, you don't have to do it. I don't want to put it on yet anyway."

"Fine. Suit yourself. No foreplay then," He pushed his hulk onto her and slid his hand up her skirt, but somehow she managed to slide out from under his weight.

"Can we do this later?"

"No we can do this _now,_" Demetri lunged at her but she stepped out of reach.

"You've been denying me lately, Isabella, and I won't have it. Who is he? Are you seeing someone else?"

"Of course not. I just don't feel like having sex right now."

"Well I do," he was up and pulling her towards the bed. She resisted, backing up and wrenching her arm out of his grip. She tried to make a break for the door but the tree-trunk halted her, pinned her, and turned her around.

"What's happening between us, Isabella? We used to be so happy. Weren't we happy?" If Demetri expected an answer from her, he might want to loosen the vice-like grip that he had around her throat.

"What's the matter? Nothing to say now? Feeling shy?" His eyes were swirling cauldrons of molten tar agitated by jealous rage and there was no difference between the color of his beady pupil and his marble iris. Isabella struggled to swallow, struggled for air, her soft hands clapped over his sandpaper ones in a pitiful attempt to claw at skin, to dig her fingernails into the awful, calloused skin, in the hopes that the little bit of pain it might cause would get the monster to release her.

Demetri walked her over to the bed and she feared that this sex session might turn violent. They reached the bedpost and Isabella shoved her palm against it to brace them from going any further.

".....no." It was all she could get out and with that one word, those two letters, she was struck in the face by Demetri's fist harder than she'd ever been hit before. By anyone. The lights went out, she felt the strength drain from her body, starting at her elbows her arms went limp, her knees turned to jelly and she wanted to sleep but Demetri's grip had not lost it's hold on her tender neck.

"Stop it!!" Jane rushed into the room, the tray of champagne and caviar she was ordered her to bring to the bedroom crashed to the carpet at the sight of Demetri's hands at Isabella's throat.

She ran across the floor and jumped at Demetri's arm, pulling on it with all her might.

"You're choking her!! STOPPIT!!" She was crying, for it was obvious that there was nothing she could do. She couldn't budge this man. In fact, he wasn't even looking at her, he hadn't turned his head since she started shrieking and oddly enough, his calm psychotic composure had calmed her unnaturally.

"Ohhh but she likes it. …Don't you? Don't you like it, Isabella? Yes. You're a dirty one. You like to play dirty? I'll show you dirty. Is that why you're not in the mood anymore? You pushed me away for the last time tonight. How about I tie you up?" Demetri had one hand wrapped around Isabella's throat right under her jaw and the other brushing through her soft curls. His breath was bringing tears to Isabella's eyes as it was blown into her face with each stagnant word.

"She doesn't like that, sir. Look at her face. She can't breathe. Please. Just let her go," Jane tried the reasoning approach to no avail.

"Shut up, girl, and get out of here. Can't you see we're busy? In fact, we're just getting started, aren't we?" He began stroking Isabella's terrified face with the backs of his fingers.

"Yessssss I'm going to fuck you good tonight, allll night, and when I'm done there'll be no room in that pretty little head of yours for anyone else but me. ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME!!?" He was shaking Isabella ferociously but she'd gone limp from the blow to the head.

"STOP!!!" Jane was crying again. Those few moments of calm hypnotized her into believing this was all just some weird sex-thing, a show for their sick amusement. Now she realized what a fool she'd been and she was once again at Demetri's back, clawing at his neck, digging her fingers into the sides of his face, his eyes, and not knowing what else to do, she sunk her teeth into his shoulder, feeling her incisors scrape over his collarbone and there was a bellow and Demetri spun around, swatting Jane to the floor like a bug. She stood up quickly, mocking his control as if daring him to come get her.

"Leave her alone!! DON'T TOUCH HER!!!" Isabella coughed as she grabbed for Demetri's arm, pulling it away from Jane's petite frame and directing his rage back towards herself. She used the opportunity of Demetri being caught off guard to pull the fire poker out of the pot and, using it like a rail, she shoved Demetri into the wall. She staggered back, eyes wide but blind with shock and rage.

"Don't. you. dare. touch her again." Isabella panted, still finding her voice.

"It's alright, Isabella. I'm alright." Jane's voice was steady and calm.

"You bastard. You miserable fucking _bastard_," Isabella growled low through clenched teeth, pinning Demetri to the wall. All those years of training, endless hours on her feet, bending and stretching, hours that Demetri forced on her, finally proved what they were good for.

"Put the poker down, Isabella."

"You're a coward." She dug the tip into his gut.

"Isabella. Unhand me this instant and we can talk about it."

"There's nothing to talk about. You're drunk and I've seen enough."

"What to you think you're going to do, holding me here like this? What do you think is going to happen? No one here will help you. I am the master of this house. Who do you think they'll believe?"

"I'm calling the police," Jane said.

Demetri laughed. "The Cheka? They will do nothing to me."

"No, Jane. Don't," Isabella turned back to Demetri. "I'll leave."

"Where will you go? You'll be run out of town. Where will you live? You're accustomed to a very luxurious lifestyle, the finest clothing and food, anything your little heart desires available at your fingertips. You think you'll find that with the likes of that _pianist_ boy and his kind? ...........Now let me go."

**

When Isabella arrived in Russia almost five years ago, she was given many orders and only one option. Whether or not she wanted to attend church. She said no because she hadn't been given the opportunity to say no to anything and it gave her the smallest bit of time to herself. Once a week while Demetri was gone, Isabella had two hours to do whatever she wished as long as she stayed in the house. Sometimes she'd lay in bed and nothing more. Sometimes she'd take a bath in the tub so large she could practically swim in it, or read sprawled across the soft wooden bench on the terrace. She never felt guilty for her choice, she felt free.

But ironically enough, she had never felt _freer_ than when she pulled the heavy ornate door open to the Cathedral of the Assumption and that dry, stuffy air hit her full in the face. For the first time she wished she had gone with Demetri just once so she'd know the rules, where to stand, how long she could stay. Her eyes were pinned to the arching gold leaf ceiling when she heard soft steps beside her.

"Are you in trouble, my dear?"

At first Isabella was confused by the kind old face looking at her with such worry. How would he know? Did she look that desperate? But then the man reached forward with a handkerchief from his robe, pausing slightly to make sure she wasn't going to flinch, and pressed it to her temple. It came back red.

Oh right. That.

"I…I don't have anywhere to go."

"His children are always welcome here."

"I'm not…This is my first time here."

He smiled sweetly at Isabella and took her shaking hand in his soft wrinkled ones.

"Come sit and I'll fetch water and a towel to clean your wounds."

He didn't ask questions and after making sure Isabella was calm, he left her alone in the second long pew in front of the altar. There were twenty or so people scattered across the room, perched with heads bowed on God's lap, but they didn't seem to notice Isabella at all much less recognize her. She had no idea what to think about or where to even start. Her temple was stinging, her jaw was throbbing and she pulled the black scarf higher around her throat to hide the deep finger-shaped bruises that she hadn't actually seen but could feel with every beat of her heart.

She worried about Jane and wondered if she was ok. She wondered where Edward was and if he was safe. The thought had tickled her mind that Demetri might look for her to be with him, if anyone was looking for her at all.

She was so lost in her head and trying to make herself as small as possible that she didn't notice a boy taking a seat at the end of the pew. She didn't feel the curious brown eyes sweeping over her and assessing the situation.

He had come to collect money for repainting the North wall and maybe he should have done just that but he opened his mouth instead.

"I know you."

Isabella jumped, sitting up straighter, and glanced into the eyes of the boy beside her long enough to register that he was below her in class and on the food chain and that meant he needed to be dismissed as quickly as possible.

"Most people do." It was delivered with a sniff and a snarl that only made Alex giggle and scrunch down, propping his ankles on the back of the pew in front of him with male confidence and a feminine mischief in the bend of his hands. A woman walking through looked with disdain at his feet and Alex only smiled, winked and wiggled his toes.

"No I mean I _know_ you. Well enough to know that you should be shacked up in some penthouse right now, not here with us lowly animals."

"I hardly have time for-"

"_And_ I know how you probably got that gash on your head. Mouthing off, eh? Or did he catch you sneaking out?"

Alex _loved_ the shocked look on Isabella's face. Loved it, rolled around in it and smeared it on his body as Isabella broke into a cold sweat, glancing back at the heavy doors thinking she should run.

"Who…Who are you?"

"Ah. In here-" Alex tilted his head back and gestured around at the ocean of air above their heads, "there's sanctuary. That means the good Lord says I don't have to answer to anyone but him. Especially not some stuck-up princess who's too good for her own mother and too stupid to know what she had. Unless you're in here praying that he'll be dumb enough to take you back."

"B-but…you know…you know _Edward_."

Alex let his feet fall to the floor with a loud thud, sitting up straighter, and turning his shoulders to face her.

"You think you can just drop him off and pick him up at your leisure? That way you won't have to clean up your mess, is that it? Or did you think you were being terribly gracious by ending it before you took a hobby too far? …..This isn't one of your plays, принцесса (princess). This is real. …_He's_ real. The curtain isn't going to fall so everyone can forget the pain and drama. Art doesn't imitate life. Not _my_ life, at least. Not the lives of most people in Russia or in the world, for that matter. You don't write the script like you've always been told you can. _Not_ for him. Stay away from him, you hear me? You've done enough."

Isabella felt like she'd been dropped from a bridge into an icy river. She gasped and couldn't draw breath enough to speak. For the first time in a long time she felt…stupid. And small and ashamed and Alex's eyes drilling into her like he was waiting for a response only made her feel worse. Because she had no idea what to say to that. _Sorry?_ Maybe she should try to explain. But she didn't even know the boy's name.

"Who are you?"

"A friend. And not of yours."

With that he stood and walked out, slinging the door open far wider than was necessary for his slight body to slip through.

**

"Where's Edward?"

Tanya looked up from the chess game in irritation at the disturbance. It was barely keeping Jake's attention anyway, much less now that there was another boy in the room who might want to do something more interesting. But Alex was already leaving through the other door as Tanya yelled after him, "He's upstairs. Brought some stuff home from the pharmacy for you and probably fell asleep."

Alex found Edward sprawled across his bed and he slammed the door hard, giggling as Edward jumped and blinked, flipping him off and scowling.

"You'll thank me for waking you when I tell you who I just saw."

"I haven't slept in three days. I doubt I'll ever thank you for anything again."

"Well _she_ doesn't look like she's slept in a _month_. 'Specially not tonight. Looks like she had a run-in with the business end of a battering ram."

"…Who are you talking about?"

Alex could tell by the tone in Edward's voice that Edward knew exactly who he was talking about. He smirked and took a turn about the room like a Victorian lady with false interest in uninteresting things, his eyes cutting to Edward's emerald gaze slicing into his back.

"You _know_ who."

"Where…What happened?! Is she ok?!"

"I guess she's ok. Just banged up a bit, but she always looks like that, right? ...Can't remember where..."

"You're lying."

"I'm not. And I'm hurt that you would think so."

"Now I _know_ you're lying."

Launching himself onto bed, Alex rolled his eyes and huffed, triggering a hacking cough and Edward threw the medicine bottle at him from the bag on the floor. He took a long swig and grimaced and coughed again.

"Look I saw her. That's all. And I think you're better off, Edward. She looks like a bitch."

"Don't."

"I'm just sayin."

"I saw her today too, at practice, and she was fine. Not a mark on her that I could see. That means something happened tonight. ...That's it. I'm…"

"You're what?"

"…Nothing. Look. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Where are y-"

"Take your medicine. Go to bed for once. Stop making us worry."

**

Unapologetic light bled in from the hallway as annoyed hinges reluctantly opened the creaky bedroom door. Alice entered in stockinged feet and stood inside the shabby, bare room staring at the mass on the bed. It's exactly what she expected to find after watching Edward exit out the back door of the house to avoid coming into contact with, and therefore having to speak to, anyone. She found her way to the bed - she wished she didn't know the way so well - without turning on the lamp and plopped down next to a curled up Alex in the fetal position. He was piled at the very edge, his glazed eyes open and focused on the wood floor.

"So, where's he off to?" she sighed loudly in case he hadn't yet noticed she was there. She waited for him to answer, which she knew he'd do once he felt like it.

"Dunno."

"You ok?" She was about to be pushed off the edge by his shifting weight and long arching hand-over-head, rib-bending stretch.

"Uh huuuuuuuuuuuh," he yawned. "Why?"

"You sleep when you're depressed, and you haven't moved from this spot in the three and a half hours since he left."

"Where _should_ I be, darling? Tell me."

"Don't be a brat, Alex. We're just concerned, that's all. You've been ill, you haven't been taking care of yourself, you've been worried about Edward - we all know it..."

"...mmph."

"...Anyway. We're in the living room if you'd like to join us."

"Nope."

"Or you could continue to wallow in here and pine for your lost love."

Alice rose and smoothed her skirt, closing the door behind her.

Alex moved to his other side and faced the wall, returning to the fetal position with his hands between his knees. "....sounds good to me."


	22. For the love of

**For the love of**

Isabella waited for the last of the parishioners to shake hands with the priest and leave down the church steps before she attempted to make an exit of her own.

She had stayed for the entire evening mass, paying more attention to the sounds of the organ pipes and the angelic voices in the choir than to the word of the Lord and the preaching of God's promise of everlasting life. The face and tone of the boy who knew her Edward was etched into her memory, and as the readings were read and the Gospel was spoken, Isabella sat and stared straight ahead at Jesus hanging from the cross, the nails punctured through his hands and feet, the crown of thorns digging into his forehead and instead of wondering what it felt like to die for the sins of the world, Isabella wondered what the boys name had been. The way he spoke, with venom and certainty - _Stay away from him - w_ho was he and how did he know Edward?

Isabella was in such a daze when she reached the heavy double doors at the front vestibule that she banged her elbow on the dish of holy water. Coming to her senses, she stuck two fingers in and touched them to her forehead, to her chest, and to both shoulders.

"Thank you, Father. Lovely sermon," Isabella repeated what she heard the others in front of her say.

"I hope to see you again, dear," he answered. He looked at her curiosly, noticing the marks on her face and neck that she'd forgotten to cover with her scarf and, as God's messenger on Earth, he lifted his hand in the sign of the cross. "If you've lost your way, my child, look no further than God's open arms."

"....uh, thank you, Father. I'll keep that in mind."

**

The penthouse had been shut down for the evening. Dinner was not served and the staff had retired to their rooms after lock up. Jane remained in the large, walk-in linen closet folding hundreds of cloth napkins, table cloths, table runners, place mats, anything that looked slightly disheveled, to keep her mind off of Isabella and what might have become of her. Demetri locked himself in the master bedroom for hours after Isabella raced out, and had only just taken his tea and cigar in the study.

The sound of the kitchen door sweeping open and then closed turned jane's head and her expression changed from one of despair and disillusion to ecstasy.

"Isabella!" she shouted in a whisper mingled with the full pitch of her voice.

"Jane!" Isabella was immediately at Jane's side, hugging her close without a care of how it looked or what people might think. They were like war veterans reunited after the trauma of battle, emotions so razor sharp that not even time could dull their pointed power.

"Jane are you you alright? Please tell me you're alright." Isabella pulled back and was performing a full body scan analysis with her eyes.

"Yes, I'm fine, but...what are you doing here?" Jane looked over both of their shoulders as if speaking the words would bring on the guards.

"I had to come back. I couldn't leave you here without knowing that you were alright. ...Did he hurt you? I'm so sorry to have left you like that. Please forgive me. I'll never do that again, I wasn't thinking, I couldn't breathe. ...I'm sorry."

Jane leaned her head into Isabella's warm palm and smiled, "It's alright, miss. I'm fine. He didn't touch me again. He stood at the window like a statue after you left. ...it is _I_ who am sorry that I was not better help to you."

"Nonsense. If you didn't show up when you did I dare not think what the outcome might have been. ....Where is he?"

"In the study. He doesn't want to be disturbed, last time I checked."

"You _went to him_? Weren't you frightened he might..."

"He doesn't want to hurt _me,_ Isabella," Jane kept her voice as calm and even-keeled as possible to prove to Isabella that the worst had passed, but it was as if the attack had happened only moments ago and could flare up again at any moment.

".....he would have. You got in the way. He'll hurt anyone who gets in his way."

Jane could sense something broken in Isabella. Something that held her together for so long, the wire framing, it had gone bad, bent beyond repair, and there was no going back. Demetri's hand at her neck made sure of that. For the first time since she'd known her, Jane saw Isabella in front of her, unable to hide the fear behind her eyes.

"This our life, Isabella. It's the only one we have. Don't live it in fear."

"Where else can I go? He's right. No one will take me in."

"What about the boy?"

"..."

"_Your_ boy," she clarified. "The gorgeous one that I've had inappropriate fantasies about ever since I first laid eyes on him _climbing the stairs to your room_."

Isabella's blush reddened her face crimson and she shrugged modestly. "....I'm afraid I've fucked that up. I'm surprised he'd want anything significant to do with me after the way I disregarded him. And, I've been told by a reliable source, that I should stay far away. I've done enough damage to his soul."

"Pffft." Jane flitted her hand in disregard. "You're going to let that stop you? He walked straight into the lion's den to be with you and you're going to give up on him? Question his love? You can't let yourself off the hook that easily. _Find him_, _Isabella_. It's time."

**

Edward didn't realize how late he'd been out walking until he rounded the corner and saw the last sliver of orange sun setting behind the horizon. If he had a plan he sure wasn't following it. If he had a clue, he sure didn't know where it was. What he _did_ have was a heart and it was pounding and aching and seeping and breaking and healing and breaking again.

He pushed the door open and entered the kitchen of his brother's house. Rosalie's face lit up.

"Hey Edward! You staying for dinner?" The record player was playing Tchaikovsky, Edward's favorite, and the table had been set with all the dishes and silverware they owned.

"Can't Rosalie. I've come to collect some clothes...and..." Edward tried to avoid the piercing look he knew was coming. Rosalie pulled a tray of baked potatoes from the oven and he knew she would set them on the stove, pull the mitts from her hands, wipe her hands on her apron and ask with a sincere look of concern....

"Where ya goin'?"

And he'd try to dart his eyes away but she'd follow them and pick them up from the floor and squeeze them between her tiny fingers until they focused on her question.

"...I don't...know...exactly. I haven't fully decided but..."

"Has something happened? Is it Alex?" She knew he'd been sick. "Jake? One day that boy's gonna get it. It's Jasper isn't it? Shit. Is Jasper alright?" She could tell by the way Edward's face drooped lower and lower with each passing name that it was none of those. _They're_ all fine. But what about the one....

"Ah. Well.....has she called?" she asked carefully.

"...No."

"What's happened? You're scaring me, Edward, what's wrong?" She frowned and followed Edward's erratic pacing about the room.

"I've let it go on too long. I've stood by and watched her take blow after blow to be with me as it were her duty, her penance, when all this time I could have done something to _stop it_. And now we're not even together and she's _still _getting hit and...I have to..."

"Have to what?"

"I'm getting her out of there."

Rosalie reached out to the chair for support. Her pregnant belly swayed her weight unevenly and she balanced on her tiny feet.

"Edward, I thought you said that man was dangerous. If he finds Isabella gone and you're involved..."

"Leave him be, Rosalie." Emmett's entrance into a room was much like an arctic blast blowing over an already frozen tundra. Everyone immediately tensed, reluctant to move, unsure when to speak or if they'd even be able to if they tried. He didn't make eye contact, not until he was ready to care what your face looked like when you heard what he had to say.

Emmett picked up the newspaper and unfolded it, standing up so it dropped to its full length, he leafed from page to page.

"I've heard of this Demetri Romanoff," he began, then paused for a full thirty seconds while he skimmed over an article that caught his attention. He was older than Edward by six years and had always been a gruff father-figure, distant and full of tough-love. To say Edward was intimidated by him was to say that sometimes it got cold in Russia in the winter.

"There's more and more talk of him at the plant. His stake in the factories on the hill is growing by the day. Pretty soon he'll have three-quarter share of the profits. ...You're surprised? You don't think he makes all of his money by extorting the theater owners and working his dancers to the bone, do you? Certainly not. This ballerina isn't his only one either. Did you know that? She's swan of the month, excuse the bad joke, but they're breeding more winners every day like stallions, and when she falls, and she _will_ fall, there'll be another to take her place. One way or another, it will happen. These girls have short lifespans. There is no loyalty in that business. And you'll want to be far away when it happens."

If words had hands Edward's lip would be bleeding and his eye black and blue.

"I...love her, Emmett."

"All this talk of _love_. Love, love, always in love. Well where has love taken you? What has it given you besides heartache and pain? It's put you out of a job twice, it has you running again, away from something and towards what this time? Towards someone who doesn't want you."

"You don't know that."

"What do you have to offer her? An older brother from the factory with a bad leg, and a group of ragamuffin friends? Do you really think she'll leave the top rung of the ladder for the bottom of the barrel because her boyfriend _hits her_ when he gets drunk? Welcome to thousands of years of domestic violence. Our mother was slapped around when pa came home late from the pub and it was forgotten the next morning. ...You were better off with that fella, Alexander. At least he's more like us. No one gives a shit about him, and unlike your dancer, he's not a walking dollar sign."

"I want to be with Isabella. I love _Isabella_. I wish you could understand that."

"Love is not free, little brother. Leave romance to those who can afford it. There's nothing romantic about hunger, or about fear. That dancer is nothing but trouble. And not the romantic kind of trouble that you see in those films you love so much, but the kind of trouble that leaves you dead long after the credits roll."

"It won't be like that. I'll be careful."

Emmett snorted. "You'll be careful. Right." He crossed the room and moved the curtain back with his hand.

"See that? There's a black car parked outside the house. Didn't wait long, did they? It's been there all day."

Edward had not seen it. He was so consumed with his dreamlike thoughts of rescuing Isabella from the tower like the fair Rapunzel that he walked in without paying attention.

"N-no. I must have walked...right past it."

"Mmm, that wasn't very _careful_ of you, now was it."

Edward didn't know what to say. He knew Emmett was wise and had an understanding of things that had Edward eternally scratching his head, but what Emmett _didn't_ understand was that forgetting Isabella was not an option. He would never convince his brother of that. Emmett was a practical man, a numbers man, a 'that times this equals survival' kind of man, a get up and go to work each day, read the paper, pay your taxes, have dinner with your wife and go to bed kind of man. Whereas the younger Cullen was flighty and over-emotional, asking too many questions and giving obscure answers to any asked of him. Most of the time Emmett had less than little patience for Edward's pipe-dreams. This was one of those times.

Emmett took his paper into the parlor, mumbling something about that night's menu......"What's for dinner Rosalie? Potato soup again?"

Rosalie rolled her eyes at her husband and smiled in Edward's direction. "You pay your brother no mind, Edward sweetie. You know how he is. He's been your father all these years when neither of you had one. It's what he knows. He only has your best interests at heart. You're all he's got left. To him, _safe_ comes before _happy_."

"What about you? What comes first for you?" And that right there was the trait in Edward that Rosalie fell in love with the first day Emmett brought her home to meet him three years ago. She cupped her palms under each side of Edward's stunning jaw-line. She sighed and looked deep into his heavenly emerald eyes.

"You break my heart each time I look into your face, Edward. You've always been the sweetest creature. I'm lucky to know you and to call you family. So I'll only say this once, while your brother is out of earshot." She leaned in and Edward held his breath.

"......The one you love is waiting. Go get her. Save her. _Save each other_. But don't bring her here. They'll be expecting her here. They already are."


	23. Isabella's backstory

**Isabella backstory.**

**a quick peek into her past.**

* * *

For months and months all Isabella knew was the inside of a small private studio in the center St. Petersburg and the downstairs study where she took her lessons and where she and Demetri resided until they were to return to Moscow. The nine other dancers in her class came from money and were unlike any other girls Isabella had ever known. They talked like adults. Not like her mother. But like Demetri. Isabella never spoke to them. Instead she hid in the shadows and let her eyes wander up their spines and shoulders to compare them to her own. She was fourteen and didn't quite know what she was supposed to look like. She stood at the very end of the room, the spot at the very end of the barre, and did what she was told, like Demetri insisted she must.

"Isabella you're off. Your leg is moving like a dead fish. Higher. _Higher._ You're not listening! The only thing your worthless ears are good for is marking where your ankle should be."

"I'm trying."

"No...ARGUMENTS. We do not TRY. We DO. _Say_ it."

"We do not try. We do."

"Now _DO_ IT."

If the cane fell on her thigh within the first hour of class it was felt more than when her muscles were numb with strain. Pain was something she learned to accept as a part of her life, the same way she accepted the disciplined military scheduling, meals carefully planned and overseen. No sugar. No free time. She learned the names of bones and muscle groups through injuries. _It hurts where? That's a torn medial collateral ligament. Wrap it. Don't bend it. Be back tomorrow. You have a strained rotator cuff. Wrap it. Don't move it. Be back tomorrow. It's only a dislocated wrist. Set it back. Wrap it. Don't bend it. Be back tomorrow._

Pain was a bother and nothing more. It was there to help you judge how hard you had worked and how much further you could go. In ballet if you could stand without a joint buckling under you then you went harder, longer, faster. A broken bone or shredded ligament was unbearable only if it stopped you for an indefinite amount of time. And it was your fault if you were so damn careless.

She watched as Nadia misjudged a landing and snapped her ankle. The sharp crack echoed off the wall and the only sound the girl let slip was a small whimper. The instructor rolled his eyes and turned his back, calling her a clumsy fool. _Think about your disgraced family as you're healing, you clumsy fool, _to be exact.

Isabella was used to doing the moves and positions in worn sneakers or barefoot on pavement, so at first she could barely walk in the silken slippers with bottoms slick as glass. The other girls tittered throughout Isabella's first rehearsal as she struggled with things she had never thought of before.  
_  
Watch your hands, Isabella, they're not dead weights. Grace! Grace! Don't look at your feet! They're attached to your legs like they always are. If they fall off you'll know. Straight back, Isabella. Did you learn form from a crooked tree? _

But by the end of the second class she was more aware of herself and her movements than she'd ever been in her life and even at fourteen she knew she was better than the others regardless of the fact that they'd been in their classes since six and seven years old. That's why Demetri put her with other girls when he could easily have had her in private lessons. It was part of her training in dance and other wise. He thought it very important for Isabella to be around subordinates, as far as her talent was concerned, because she hadn't been born with the arrogance and empty confidence inherited from pompous fathers and old money. Pride and superiority had to be taught and drilled into her. And that started with resentment. She was pushed harder in front of them, _embarrassed_ in front of them, and Demetri watched from the side as Isabella's sweet, brown eyes started to harden a little at a time. Every time she was singled out as clumsy, snapped with the cane for being a centimeter off mark after a floors length of perfect controlled spins when the other girls didn't make the length at all, her nose turned up a little more and the shyness shed like serpent skin, slowly replaced with drive and the absolute need for perfection.

"Your instructor tells me you've improved more in the last few days than in the entire month before."

"Yes sir."

"How does that make you feel?"

"Good, sir."

"He says that you have surpassed students that have been under his careful instruction for years. Nadia has been dancing since the age of seven for a professional eye and even she is quickly falling into your shadow. How does that make you feel? To be the best? To have people under your feet?"

".....Good, sir."

"Of course it does. Get used to it, Isabella. This is your life now. You will never be anything but the best from here on out."

Every spare minute of the day was used to teach, to mold, to influence. Demetri walked Isabella home from class for her afternoon studies then walked her home from her evening dance rehearsal. On these walks he pointed out architecture and quizzed Isabella on the fabric of the ladies dresses that passed by, telling her of artists and composers and every grand ballet theatre in the world.

And he told her most about Moscow.

In the evenings after a late dinner Isabella would sit at Demetri's feet with her head resting on his knee, dozing off as she listened to him read fairy tales. When she mentioned that there were words she didn't understand, she was told that she should always act as if there was nothing in the world she didn't know.

"There will never be anything more important than what a person of power thinks, Isabella. _You_ will be a person of power."

Lessons were grueling, flanked on either side with six to seven hour bouts on the dance floor. A large history book was slapped in front of her. _You will learn all the errors and follies of men so every mistake you make in your life will at least be your own._ Her handwriting was to be perfect. She learned to read music and speak only when spoken to and what fork to use and how to hold a wine glass and the exact degree at which she should hold her head above others.

Oh how they'd have them all fooled.

"Odin, dva, tri, chetyre, pyat,..."

It's hard to remember what the Russians call six when you're sure your left middle toe is broken, your stomach is growling because you burned off your tiny breakfast during the seven hour practice session and haven't been allowed lunch and may not be allowed dinner because there's two and a half pounds that your trainer isn't pleased with at all.

"..uuhh..."

"Ladies don't say _uuhh_ Isabella. You sound like a stupid cow."

"Yes Madame."

"Start from the beginning."

"Odin, dva-"

"Sit up straight."

"-tri, chetyre, pyat...chest, sem, vosem, deyvat.....desyat."

"Again."

"Odin, dva, tri, chetyre, pyat, chest, sem, vosem, deyvat, desyat."

"En français."

"Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix."

"Auf Deutsch."

"Eins, zwei, drei, vier...f.." "

"Fünf."

"Fünf, sechs, sieben, acht…neun, zehn."

"Again."

That's the word Isabella heard in her sleep. _Again. Again. Again. _

She's sure she heard it more than any other word in the world. _Again Again. _In every language thrown at her. _Nachhaken. Encore. Di nuovo._

In the studio even a perfected spin was repeated and repeated until you thought your body might never know how to move any other way. _Again Again. Again. _

"She's a brilliant child," her instructor crowed. "And more driven than anyone I've ever taught. Self-discipline is a rare gift in girls her age. She wants so much to please you, sir."

"As a girl should. And as much as it pains me to leave such a wonderful teacher, we will be traveling to Moscow at the end of the month. I am currently arranging for the continuation of Isabella's studies and a private dance studio. "

"That's wonderful, sir. Is she excited to go?"

"She doesn't know yet. But she will be."

"Yes sir. I'm sure she will."

* * *

**We will return to your regularly scheduled Edward/Isabella angst-a-thon in the next chapter.**


	24. With you Anywhere

**Wth you. Anywhere.**

"Turn. Turn. Keep turning, Natalia. That's it. Very nice. Return to first position. Hands in front. Nicely done, darling."

Isabella smiled at the young child from her vantage point on the floor, watching the line of girls at the bar and the star-performer in the middle. Nicolai opened the door without knocking and without concern that he might be interrupting.

"How's it going, Isabella?"

"Very well, if it's any of your business."

"I'll never understand why you volunteered to teach the intermediate 5-7 year old _girls_ class at 8am every morning. Especially since _your _session doesn't start until well after noon."

Isabella rolled her eyes. "They're wonderful," she murmured under her breath as she watched them twirl and spin. Graceful angels, fresh and naive and she saw herself in their feet and the way they held their heads, just like she did when she was their age and dance was new and exciting. It was air and it could be had anywhere. She took it with her in her muscles and bones, it kept her company when she was lonely, and when she saw how it brought other people joy a new window of opportunity opened and it became her life.

"Since when did you mingle with _anyone_? Let alone _children_?" he asked.

"Children have yet to be corrupted by the world's evil intentions. Their instincts are second to none. Unfortunately, their values are compromised and sullied with each passing year unless someone protects them from the likes of the snakes you associate with."

"I wonder if you'll give this same speech to your boyfriend. Your hypocrisy surprises me, Isabella."

"I don't need to explain myself to you," she snapped back. Nicolai had gotten a little too close to her sore spot.

When she saw the posting for the weekday morning children's ballet class on the bulletin board by the front desk, she jumped at the opportunity to teach it. It would get her out of the house and away from Demetri for almost the entire day, allowing her to think about just what the fuck she was going to do next.

**

Isabella had finally returned to the bedroom suite that night after checking and re-checking that Jane was alright. She felt like a battered wife returning to a passed-out, snoring husband - but she did not find Demetri waiting for her. She took a bath and climbed into their cold, empty bed, immediately falling into an exhausted sleep. She woke the next morning to find Demetri's side of the bed disheveled - he must have come to bed in the night without waking her - but he was now gone again.

_What about your boy?_ Jane's voice echoed in her head. _Find him. It's time. ...I've royally fucked it up, Jane. ...Nonsense. It's never too late._

_**_

"Time to pack up, little ladies." Isabella clapped her hands together and rose to her feet, pins and needles prickling under her skin from sitting under one leg for an hour. She stood at the door as they filed out, a row of pink puffballs.

"Bye, Miss Swan."

"Bye, dear. See you tomorrow."

"Teacher?"

"Call me Miss Swan, Tatiana. What is it?"

"My slipper won't lace right. Can you fix it?"

Isabella knelt down and inspected the situation. "Alright, just this once. You have to learn to do this on your own. OK?"

"OK."

"OK," Isabella smiled warmly and tied the satin ribbon behind her knobby knees while she looked on in awe. "There you are. All better. Off you go, your mother is waiting."

From his unobstructed view on the sidewalk side of the glass windows, yet safely out of Isabella's sight, Edward watched the tiny exodus of ballerinas-in-training. Did they know whose presence they had just been in, who they'd been blessed to have watch over them and give them guidance? He imagined that some of them did and it would be those few who would shine brighter than the rest.

He told Rosalie not to worry, that he'd go out for milk. He'd be right back with it, it was the least he could do, and no he didn't need any money. Yet somehow during his travel the walk to the market became longer than normal and was re-routed to pass directly by his occasional place of employment. How odd. How doubly odd that Isabella would be at the studio at such an hour of the morning.

He stood there until all the children had left, wishing to God that Isabella didn't have a way with children, that she didn't pat their heads, didn't help them with the zippers on their coats. Once the last buttercup was gone and Isabella was left alone, she bent down, touched her palms flat to the tops of her feet, stood up arrow straight, pushed off with one foot and took a straight row of flawlessly executed, perfectly circular turns, one after another after another, so quickly it made Edward dizzy to watch, and stopped directly in front the window.

Their eyes meet with a thud and Edward froze. If he were to look down he was positive he'd see all the blood from his body draining out of the bottoms of his feet and trickling down the sidewalk like molten lava. The angle that hid him from Isabella's view had been compromised.

Isabella was equally shocked. She stood a good five feet above street level looking down on him with her eyes crazed and wide.

Edward wanted to run. He'd never been caught like this before. He felt like a stalker. He _looked_ like a stalker - shabby and dressed in black from head-to-toe. A group of people crossed the street and began walking down the sidewalk in his direction. Edward turned to join them. Maybe he could fit right in and disappear and maybe Isabella would think she had dreamt all this.

But he turned back, just to see that face one more time, and that's when he saw it - - there was a finger raised to the glass. An index finger held flush to the pane, and behind it was Isabella mouthing, _Wait there_.

He'd waited for Isabella his whole life. Every decision he'd made, every apprehensive step forward he'd taken, every time he questioned whether he should move to Moscow, whether he should get involved with Alex, whether he should take that job at the studio, had been an unknowing journey to the spot where he now stood.

He took a moment to thank whoever was in charge up there in that big grey-blue sky for pushing him in the zigzagged directions that led him to this point, this narrow rectangle on the side of the road by the back door of the studio that lead to the boiler room that, if you were to take a left up a small flight of cracked stairs and then take a right and go down a dingy corridor to the hallway, lead you to the room where he first met Isabella Marie Swan. And it was the same route in reverse that Isabella now took with big bounding steps brimming over with nervous energy and an overwhelming desire to wrap her arms around the man that was just separated by a thin pane of shaky glass.

As she busted through the rusty iron door into the wet morning air, without giving him a second to speak, Isabella threw herself against him with an _ooomph _and a nuzzle of faces into necks and clenching fists clawing at backs and deep breaths as the moment swept over them and Isabella's voice in Edward's ear said with a lump in her throat...

".....I'm so glad to see you....."

Edward responded muffled into Isabella's neck, "I wasn't expecting you to be here."

"Then why did you come?"

"...I wanted to be close to you. This was as close as I could get."

"..........I've missed you."

"I've missed you too."

"I uh..." She began looking around now, down the alley and up the street, and Edward figured their time was already up. But suddenly, Isabella grabbed him by the wrists and squeezed them tightly, hard enough to make Edward wince.

"What is it?" he panted, his chest rising and falling. "What's wrong?"

"Um...I..." her eyes travelled over Edward's body and she licked her lips.

Edward cocked his head to the side, visibly puzzled. "Say it, Isabella. Tell me." He felt Isabella's hands trembling as they clutched his wrists.

"It's uhhhhh, umm. .....Seeing you there just now... at the window.....I didn't know if I'd ever see you again. I know I _wanted_ to see you again...I wanted it more than anything...I just hadn't figured out how to do it, but now here you are, and I don't have to figure it out anymore. You're here. You're here." She says it two more times before Edward asks for clarification.

"....What are you saying?"

"You told me once that you'd do anything to be with me, take any risk, but that you wouldn't force me to do the same, that it was _my_ decision where I wanted to be."

"I remember."

"Well I've made my decision.

"You have," Edward heard a silent roll of thunder.

"Yes. I have," Isabella whispered with authority and excitement in her eyes. "....I'm going with_ you_."

"With _me_?" he repeated. He couldn't be hearing correctly. He must have been unknowingly jumped by a gang of thugs on his way over and thumped repeatedly about the head. If Isabela didn't currently have his wrists in a vice-ike grip, he'd be running them through his wild copper hair.

"With me where?"

"Wherever you go," Isabella smiled, taking a step forward and tying Edward's arms around her waist.

"...Um…" Hmm. This was interesting indeed.

"For example," she continued, smiling up at him. "....Where are you going right now?"

"Well, I was going to the market and..."

"Great. I'll go with you."

"Isabella," Edward put his hands on the sides of her face and caressed her porcelain cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. He understood now.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"W-why not?" she whimpered.

"Where will you stay?"

"With you."

"Where will you sleep?"

"With _you_. …If you want me to, that is."

"You know I do. You're all I think about. But how..."

"Can we work out the details later?"

"Sure, yeah, wh-" Edward's sentence was cut short by the thrust of Isabella's warm tongue in his mouth, the familiar sucking sound of Isabella's lips on his and the light lapping of their mingling saliva. And he gave in as the questions melted away.


	25. Stars materialize

**Stars materialize**

"Are you excited for Paris, my love?" Demetri asked, slicing into his steak like a barbarian. He didn't wait for her to answer, because he didn't care what her answer was or if she even had an opinion of her own on anything. "Of course you are. Who doesn't love Paris in the springtime? You are made for Paris, Isabella. You will command legions of fans and admirers the moment you arrive."

_And ticket sales. Let's not forget ticket sales – the real purpose of our visit._

"You still have shows booked here in Moscow, however. We can't have you shirking your duties to bathe yourself in lilac and lavender all day," he chuckled at his pathetic excuse for a joke. "Your fans here would be devastated."

_So would your pocketbook, you miserable, conniving bastard._

Isabella sat at the sprawling dining room table like a good little girl, nodding and smiling close-lipped smiles as Demetri chattered on and on about how wonderful Paris was going to be and the impressive fan base she would build there. She quietly picked at her food and wished there weren't so many people watching her; a guard at every door, every seat at the table filled with Demetri's drooling admirers, servants at every elbow. They couldn't see into her mind as she thought of the best time to sneak out and what to take with her and what to leave behind. She wondered if Edward would be waiting for her like he said he would. Her skin tingled and her panties moistened as she remembered his face, his lips, his touch, his words to her under the seeping awnings of the dance studio.

_He loves me. I knew it. Edward loves me and I love him and I have to get out._

"Yes Demetri," she answered robotically. "Paris sounds lovely."

That night, in their massive bed chamber, Isabella hummed to herself as she packed for a trip she had no intention of taking. She glided back and forth from the walk-in closet, her silken dressing robes sweeping the carpet, to the four-poster bed with open suitcases propped atop the mattress, placing her luxurious items inside – exquisite clothing and jewels, perfumes and toiletries, items that meant nothing to her, that meant less to her than Demetri himself. It wasn't just packing. For Isabella, it was a purging. To no one's knowledge but her own, there was a non-descript duffel bag already packed and waiting for her in the top kitchen cupboard next to the flour and pans above the stove by the servant's entrance, her final exit.

The few clothes and the slippers she tossed inside would never be noticed.

She waited until Demetri had been asleep for several hours. She waited until his breaths were long and deep and filled with snores and that was when she silently slipped out of bed, her feet making no noise as they descended the staircase and padded down the corridor towards the kitchen. She stuck her feet into thin rubber shoes and the sound of the latch closing behind her had never felt more empowering. When she hit the sidewalk, she ran hard and fast, down narrow alleys and with only her memory to lead the way to Edward's window.

He'd left it open.

_Just like we planned_.

The nights were getting warmer and Isabella's breath stung in her lungs as her chest heaved from heavy breathing and a hummingbird heartbeat. Her legs were shaking but she managed to slip inside Edward's room with ease. And there he was. There was other-worldly Edward stretched out on the mattress, on his back, his arm draped over his eyes. Isabella crept across the bed and crawled over him, keeping her weight on her hands and knees and she gazed down at him adoringly. She stroked the backs of her fingers down his cheek and leaned to kiss the tip of his perfect nose.

Edward slowly began to blink his eyes open until they focused on Isabella's gently smiling face hovering inches above his own. He didn't move as tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and down his temples into the hair around his ears.

"I thought you weren't coming," he finally whispered.

Without warning Isabella flopped all of her weight onto Edward's torso and hugged him, gripping him so hard that bones cracked and they kissed each other's faces and necks and tugged at hair with their legs twisting and Edward started to talk as Isabella licked over his throat, memorizing his taste all over again.

"We won't be able to stay here," he warned. "I can't put Emmett, Rosalie, and the new baby in danger. We'll have to leave."

"I don't care," she kissed. "I already told you. I'll go with you anywhere."

"Ok. But we have to go tonight. They'll know you're gone as soon as the sun rises."

"Fine."

"We won't have much. Less than we even have here."

"We'll have each other. That's all that matters."

"There might be times when there's not enough to eat. You'll be hungry. Things won't be the way you're used-"

"I don't care."

"Ok. ….But..." Edward paused and swiped at his eyes because this was the big one. This was the HUGE one and he already knew what Isabella would say and it broke his fucking heart to know that she'd be willing to give up the very thing she cared most about for the chance to be with him.

"You won't have anywhere to dance. Isabella. You won't have all the time in the world to practice like you do now."

"I don't care," she answered, sliding the palm of her hand down Edward's bare chest, lower and lower, noticing his breath hitch and his stomach muscles tighten when she reached the juncture of his thigh. She traced back up and then back down again. Edward's breath caught in his chest and he took both of her tiny wrists in his hands. He placed her hands on his shoulders and kept them there while he pushed his hands up the back of her shirt, running his thumbnails over the ridges in her spine. She hissed and he smiled a crooked smile.

"_I_ should care enough _for_ you, Isabella. _Bella_. Beautiful. .....Love is supposed to be selfless, but I can't be. I'm not strong enough. Because I want you, beautiful. Beautiful Bella. I want to be with you. I want you to be mine and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen and to keep you with me. ....Do you see now? I'm really a selfish bastard."

There was a pause as they held each other, as Edward removed Isabella of her long dressing gown, as he tossed it to the floor and ran his trembling hands over her supple bare breasts, her hardened nipples, as she shifted and gyrated and slipped out of her underwear and came into contact with his naked body, his erect penis, as she pressed and writhed her wetness against him, she took Edward's face in her hands and leaned their foreheads together, and as he entered her she whimpered a cry that turned into a moan and she clenched her muscles around him and held him inside her.

"Edward," she groaned and she rocked against his hips. "you're the most selfless man I've ever met. I know you'll take care of me. I'm not scared. I'll take care of you too. If that's all I accomplish for the rest of my life. I'll be the luckiest woman alive...to know that I've made you smile. You'll always be enough. …More than enough."

Their lips crashed together, hungrily, desperately, and Edward rolled on top of her so he could claim her as his own.

"I want you to know one thing," he panted, thrusting his rock hard length deep inside her. "I promise you...I'll never let anyone hurt you...ever." He was close, the familiar rumbling in his abdomen warning him that he wouldn't hold out much longer. Another thrust and he could feel Isabella shaking underneath him with the power of her own release. Her warm body going limp as he continued to ride her through her orgasm. He grunted as his own climax overtook him and they rode the wave together, pleasure pouring over them, sweaty in each others arms and he swept Isabella's matted hair from her forehead.

"...and I'll get you back into a studio if we have to break in every night. ...I promise."


	26. No more running

**No more running**

Hours of running had led them to a clearing and they held hands as they walked down the lane. Edward carried Isabella's bag on his shoulder and they approached the dilapidated house Edward once called home. He could already see Alice's curious face peering out of the upstairs window.

"This is the place you told me about," Isabella said softly to no one in particular. It was the very beginning of morning. The sun had just begun to rise and spread its warmth and color across the sky and overgrown yard, the trees still bare from winter.

They stood at the bottom of the steps that lead to the rickety warped porch with speckled paint patches missing here and there. Two rocking chairs listed side by side in the breeze. Empty bottles sat on top of the milk can.

Edward sighed and held his breath. "Here they come," he said. Isabella turned to him, a confused look on her cherubic face. Here _who_ come? The house appeared vacant. She moved to open her mouth to Edward who stood still looking straight ahead. Suddenly the sounds of thumping and banging like a herd of cattle approaching, the front door flew open and _they_ appeared one by one by one.

Edward smiled ear to ear and pulled Isabella closer. The small one, one of the girls, squealed like an animal and rushed towards him.

"Edwardddddd!!!! You're back!!" She threw herself into Edward's arms, her feet dangling above the ground, her arms wrapped around Edward's neck. "We missed you," she sobbed into his shoulder. He rubbed her back and held her that way for a few moments before putting her down. She wiped her eyes and hopped back onto the porch to join the others.

"Everyone," Edward began. "This is Isabella. ...Isabella, this is...everyone." They went down the line and Edward rattled off their names. "This is Jasper and Sam and Jacob, and this is Alice and Tanya." Each smiled sincerely and shook Isabella's hand. "They're my other family," he added. "There's more of them but-"

"Where the _fuck_ is everybody when I want a fucking cup of tea??!!" a familiar roar echoed throughout the house and those standing on the porch rolled their eyes in unison.

"He's been in a mood for days," Tanya muttered under her breath and winked at Edward. The squeaky screen door shoved open and out barged Alex, his eyes squinting in the morning sun. He was wearing a wrinkled button down and ill-fitting trousers.

"What are you losers doing standing out on the fucking porch?" Alex coughed, shielding his eyes with his hand. Jasper and Sam stepped to the side to reveal Edward with a timid Isabella at his side.

Alex stood stunned but before he let it show, he quickly regained his composure and his arrogant attitude returned.

"Well well. Speaking of losers." Without another word he turned on his bare heel and went back inside.

Edward exchanged a few whispered words with Jasper in the entranceway while Isabella stood off to the side with the girls looking uncomfortable and out of place. Through the window behind Alice's shoulder she could see Alex's reflection pacing in the kitchen. Those hard eyes, that unforgiving stare.

The realization came back to her. She'd seen that face before.

"Everything alright, Isabella?" Edward asked, slipping his arm around her waist.

"I'm fine," she lied.

**

"It's you. From the church. You're...him." Isabella held a steaming mug of tea in her hands and stared at the bag swirling at the bottom. She watched Alex from the corner of her eye. He was still and silent. He was watching her, too. Finally he spoke, taking a step towards her, then stepping away.

"I'm whoever you want me to be, darling. But right now, I'm history."

**

They moved into Edward's old room, the one he used to share with Alex, and Alex moved back up into the attic. After they unpacked the few belongings Isabella brought with her, Alice and Tanya brought in a few hand-me-down nightshirts and slippers, hairpins and bars of soap, and forced Isabella to take them even though she politely tried to refuse their charity.

After they left, Isabella sat on the edge of the mattress and sighed. "I feel terrible."

Edward closed the door and sat beside her. "I know you do." He pushed her hair back from her neck and placed his lips against her collarbone. "But you shouldn't. They want to help."

"But what they must think of me." She buried her face in her hands as the tears came. Edward's stomach dropped. He'd made a mistake. They shouldn't have come here. It was too much for Isabella to handle all at once. She was fragile and scared. She'd run away from an abusive relationship with one of the most powerful men in Moscow and was now shacked up in a condemned house with a dozen starving artists who were already living from hand to mouth where she'd be forced to stay indefinitely. It was too risky to even go for a walk.

"We can leave." he shifted closer and placed his hand on her thigh. His heart raced in his chest and his mouth was dry. "Isabella? We don't have to stay here. I'm sorry. I should have asked first. We can run."

"I don't want to run. It's fine here. Everyone is very...welcoming."

"He's not going to find you."

She shook her head. No, that wasn't it either.

"Then what is it?"

She shifted in place and crossed her legs at her ankles. "I.....I'm.....I'm ashamed. Everyone knows about me. Don't they?"

"....They know that you're brave and strong. They know that you need help."

_They know that I love you._

**

Alex had noticed Isabella's continued hesitation around the house, her wariness to be in the same room with anyone but Edward, her reluctance to make eye contact or speak, and he said something to Edward early one morning as Edward was leaving for Emmett's. Edward had been reluctant to show his face at his brother's house since the morning they ran for fear they were still being watched by the black sedan. He'd left a note for Emmet and Rose on the kitchen table, explaining where he would be and what he and Isabella were doing. He'd told them to burn it after they'd read it but he never properly said goodbye.

It was a risk and he knew it. But the sun had yet to rise and he had to at least let them know he was alright.

"Your ballerina looks like she's just come back from the war. She shuffles around here looking shell-shocked and wary of coming into contact with any of us. You know what she needs?"

"For you to keep your mouth shut and allow her to adjust on her own?"

"Har har. but no. She needs to be fucked good and hard and for a long time."

"Is that right?" Edward grinned, pouring a cup of weak tea.

"That's right. And I haven't heard ANYTHING at night coming from your room, excuse me OUR _old_ room, that sounds like that's happening."

".....butt the fuck out, Alex."

The truth was, that the first few weeks at the house were the hardest for Isabella _because_ of Alex. He ignored her when Edward was at work and ignored both of them when Edward came home. When he did talk to her it was a snide comment or a mean remark about how she was a leech sponging off them.

She was new to the house and wanted everyone to like her. Since she was in hiding, she was the only one there all of the time – Edward tagged along with Jake every morning to a job fixing the railroad tracks on the other side of town, Tanya and Alice worked for a cleaning and maid service and were in and out on jobs. And Alex...well, Alex worked when he felt like it. Lately it seemed like his full-time job was giving Isabella a permanent hard time.

If this was her old life she would have told him to fuck off without a second thought, but she couldn't be further from her old life and in this life she never talked back or stuck-up for herself.

The moment Isabella entered the kitchen, Alex walked out the other way. A few seconds later came the sound of his door slamming shut. She frowned and rested her head on Edward's chest, comforted by the steady sound of his heartbeat and his hand running up and down her back.

"He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you. He hates _me_."

"I don't believe that for a second."

"You aren't going to believe alot of the things I tell you, but that doesn't mean they aren't true."

"For example?"

"Ok. Sit." He pulled out the kitchen chair and Isabella slumped down. Edward remained standing, holding her small hands in his. "There is something I should tell you about Alex and me."


	27. We didn't mean for it to happen

Thank you reviewers and favoriters!! i'm so glad you are sticking with this story :) i know the last few chapters came fast but when I'm on a roll what can I say *wink*

ok so, rather than having Edward explain his past to Isabella in a bunch of dry dialogue, here is some **Alex and Edward backstory**. Hopefully this sheds some light on things.

****Once again, this chapter is bi-sexual in nature and addresses the past, before Bella came into the picture. If you are put off by bi-sexuality, please skip this chapter.****

S. Meyer owns Twilight

* * *

**"We didn't mean for it to happen."**

_"There is something I should tell you about Alex and me."_

"Where is my Edward?" Alex demanded, barging into the house and dropping his bag wet with paint onto the cluttered kitchen table. He scammed a sweaty bottle of milk from the milk can and slugged it down in three tortured gulps, wiping his chin with the back of his hand and slamming it empty onto the tile counter.

"I SAID Where is my _partnerrrrr_??!! Edward!!" he repeated, insisting attention be paid to his question.

"I'm right here," Edward answered, waltzing in from the back of the house and munching on an apple. Alex snatched the fat fruit from his hand and helped himself to a huge, juicy bite.

"Well? Start thanking me," he smirked, chewing greedily with his mouth open.

"For what? Eating my snack?"

"Nooooo," Alex laughed heartily. He tossed the apple into the sink and picked Edward up by the waist, twirling him around once, twice, then setting him down and suckling sweetly on his candied-apple lips.

"I found you a job," he gasped for breath. Edward still managed to take his breath away every single day.

"A _job_."

"Yep. Doing something you love, and no it's not fucking me. I know, I know, it's disappointing but you already get that for free, you lucky bastard. Anyway, this is a full-time gig, real work, real money, real shit-hole of a dive bar, but it's work, yeah? And it's playing piano."

"What??!! How? I've looked everywhere. How did you do it?"

"Ah ah, you can thank me later. In fact, you can get upstairs right now, get naked, get on all fours, and thank me for about an hour while I fuck that fine ass of yours. Mm? Finding you steady employment has given me a raging hard on that only you can satisfy."

Alex slapped Edward's ass, pushing him in the direction of the bedroom and palming his hand over his throbbing cock. Edward looked over his shoulder and grinned a look of control in Alex's direction, taking his time getting a move on down the hallway.

Lovely occurrences like these were commonplace at the artist common house the days, weeks, and months following Alex's procurement of a young, penniless Edward Cullen from the youth hostel. It was almost as though he had always been there, living under the stairs or out in the back garden with the gnomes, and was finally granted permission to come inside to stay. 

_Never leave_, Alex had whispered one of their first nights together when he thought Edward was sleeping. He wasn't though. Edward was awake and in love with the protective arms slung lazily around him, in love with the warm, drab room that wanted nothing from him but to contain him and shield him from the cruel winter blowing outside.

When Alex took him that first time, in his room, the one across from Sam's, it was clear to Alex that it was going to be the sexual experience he'd been practicing for since he was thirteen and lost his virginity to grubby Lauren Mallory on the playground in Devon. All the conquests since that awkward messy ridiculous first, men _and_ women, all the numbers he racked up against his headboard, all the mistakes he made had been in preparation for doing it exactly right _this time_, with no insecurities and no shame, no alcohol or drugs either, no doubt in his mind that _this_ was what sex was all about.

He began by rubbing Edward's back, absentmindedly at first, it was something he started doing the very first night, to lull Edward to sleep, to show him he was safe, that someone was there to protect him, that this new environment wasn't going to hurt him as he slept. It wasn't planned, it was just how they fell into bed, Edward exhausted from nights at the hostel where he'd be lucky if he eked out five minutes of uninterrupted shut-eye with his arms wrapped around his meager belongings. There were thieves everywhere so you learned to take your things to bed with you.

Alex rarely slept unless something was bothering him and since he never let anything bother him, he found too many things to occupy his time, he had too much energy, was never content, never satisfied, never done with his one long day of life. Yet much to his surprise, laying next to Edward with Edward's body spooned against him in the most perfect S, Alex felt like there was nothing more beautiful than sleep. He was suddenly paying attention to every small detail of every second of the day that had been presented to him as a follow up to the day before, his chest rising in breath and pressing against Edward's back, _the whirring sound the congestion in his lungs made did they always make that sound?_ his heart muscle reaching out then pulling back then reaching out, thrusting forward and returning to his chest then back out again in steady rhythm. He was alive. When had it become so simple?

Each night was the same, laughing and talking and up with the rest of the house watching TV, playing board games, card games, listening to music, telling stories until the yawns began and Alex and Edward's eyes would droop. They'd say their goodnights to whoever was left and excuse themselves hand in hand.

That was the way it was the first night they had sex.

It started off the same as the others. The movie was getting boring, Jake was snoring, Jasper had already gone to bed, Sam was restringing a guitar with little success and plenty of cursing, the girls were trying to stay awake and pretending to care what would happen in the end, and Edward and Alex were sharing the same recliner - the broken leather one with duct tape holding the arms together. It fit them both if Edward hung his legs over Alex's lap and if Alex strung one of his arms around Edward's shoulders. Sitting that close, near enough to press cheek to cheek, to bump noses if they both turned their head at the same time to comment on the movie, yet they never reached in any further, Edward would close his eyes and wait for the warm sensation of what he imagined Alex's lips would feel like if they'd just come closer and press against his own. He'd lick his lips constantly in preparation, wondering if that funny scene in the movie would cause their laughing bodies to twist in just such a way as to collide their faces together and maybe Alex's tongue would accidentally slip inside.

They went to bed that night, the night that it was going to happen - and even Alex hadn't planned for it - they slid under the covers, Edward pushed his way into Alex's concave stomach, snuggled his head into the pillow and sighed as Alex began rubbing his back like Edward knew he would. It was their nightly routine. He'd rub his palm in consecutive circles, always in the same direction, always clockwise, in between Edward's angel wings until they both fell asleep. But not this time - this time the routine would be disrupted. Something was stirring awake inside them both, something that refused to go unnoticed, something that demanded to be addressed.

Edward turned his head towards where he knew Alex's was, hoping that he'd catch him still awake. He met the hazel eyes and for a second contemplated turning back. Instead he raised his arm and set it on Alex's hip. This was how it was going to start.

Alex moved closer and whispered across Edward's face.

"I knew it."

He knew on the street corner when their eyes first met.

He knew when he picked up Edward's things from the hostel that Edward would never stay there again.

There was never going to be another time when they didn't know each other.

He'd see to it.

And he knew he'd fuck him.

Not because he knew he could, but because he knew he was_ supposed_ to.

"I've never done this before...with a man..." Edward had confessed.

"I'll show you how," Alex promised.

He suddenly believed in destiny.

**

"You getting along alright, Edward?" Tanya asked. It was early in the morning on a day of the week that doesn't matter and Tanya was in one of her bread baking phases.

"I am indeed," he giggled at the flour on her nose and wiped it off with the pad of his thumb. "Thank you very much for your hospitality."

"Better than the youth hostel, I'd imagine."

"That it is. Much," Edward saw Alex out of the corner of his eye walking to the toilet in the buff with a towel around his neck and he couldn't hide his smile at knowing exactly what Alex was doing to cause him to lose his clothes and need a bath.

"Mmhmm, much indeed," Tanya replied, putting down the roller and kneading the dough with her bare knuckles. "He likes you, y'know. And not just because you're fucking him. I've never seen him with anyone else the way he is with you."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Not bad. Just different. For him, but moreso for some of us...to see him that way. Like I said, it's different than we've _ever seen him...with anyone else_," she nodded her head towards the living room where Alice was standing at her easel staring vacantly at a still life. She'd said maybe a half dozen words to Edward since Alex brought him home.

"Oh, ehm, I just figured that she and Alex didn't get on."

"...Got on _too well_ if you ask me. That darling girl is mad for that boy. Has been ever since she first laid eyes on him. Doesn't matter what he does to her either, she'll come back for more. He's equal parts angel and devil, that one. Angel when he shows up at her door at 4am after the bars have thrown him out, and devil the next morning when she wakes up and he's gone."

She's quiet for a moment, unsure if she should have said what she just said, waiting to see how Edward would take it. She could see the line of questions in his furrowed brow.

"I'm not saying this to put you off, honey. Alex is a decent guy and he'll do anything for Alice. He'll do anything for any one of us..."

"I don't want to cause problems between him and others here. This is your house. I'm just a......I don't know what I am."

"You're a guest, an _invited_ guest and a very welcome one."

"How do you know that?"

"Because Alex wants you here, and honey, he rarely let's _anyone_ spend the night. In and out, as he likes to say. That's why Alice is having a hard time with you. Not because you aren't lovely, because you _are_. But because you're the first one - man _or_ woman - that he's let stay the night....night after night after night in your case."

"Oh," Edward blushed, pretending that he wasn't hoping that that's what she'd say.

"You have a remarkable hold over him, and _no one_ around here controls him. No one tries. We just leave him as he is and we love him warts and all, like I imagine you do. The thing is......he loves you back, Edward. He loves you very, _very_ much."

"How do...I mean...has he told you that?"

"No. Has he told you?"

"No."

"Not yet anyway. What I've come to learn about that boy - and each one of the boys here are different - but what I've learned about Alex is that Alex does things in his own time, and sometimes he has trouble knowing when he's ready. Most of the time we're able to figure it out before he is...and baby, we've had this one figured out from the start."

**

There was a reason that everyone in the house - especially Jasper - was finding it hard to believe that the man floating across the floors was their friend Alexr. In the days before Edward arrived, Jasper had a conversation with Alex after seeing Alice bolt out the front door like the house was exploding in flames, hand over her mouth to hold back the sobs, running towards the gnarled ancient tree in the front of the yard to hide and lick her self-inflicted wounds. He'd knocked on Alex's bedroom door for five minutes without letting up until Alex finally answered it stark naked with his thumb in his mouth and another body rolling over in the bed behind him.

"Nothing like coming at the wrong time," Alex said sarcastically, wiping the sweat off his forehead with one hand and the come from his stomach with the other. "That's alright though, we were nearly finished."

Jasper handed him a cigarette and nodded for him to join him outside.

"What and leave my guest? I know it _looks_ like he's done...all over me...but he's got tons left." Jasper didn't flinch. Alex reached down and picked up someone's boxers, slipped them on, took the cigarette, and closed the door behind him. They walked to the backyard and sat on the stoop. It was chilly out but Alex's skin hadn't taken the heat and figured out that it turned cool. The bite in the air mixed with the gritty unfiltered cigarette smoke and scratched the lining of Jasper's throat and he coughed out his first sentence.

"She loves you, y'know."

"And?" Alex flicked the match with his long thumbnail and inhaled deeply and easily, no cough at all. He knew who _she_ was and half-expected a Jasper talk any day. He and Alice had been fooling around a lot lately – while Jasper suffered and yearned for her in silence - and it was only a matter of time before he hurt her feelings.

"I love her too_,_" he exhaled the words amid the smoke.

"You love to _fuck_ her," Jasper modified.

"I'd love to fuck _you_ if you weren't such a precious prude. What does fucking have to do with anything?"

"You _can't_ be this dense," Jasper rubbed at his temples, deciding which angle to take. "She has more than sexual feelings for you. Women can't separate fucking and friendship as easily as men."

"She had no problem separating last night," Alex snerked.

"You amaze me. Are you aware of the effect you have on her? Because either you _are_ and you don't give a fuck or you live your life in a simple ignorance, waltzing around each day without a care in the world, much like the cat Tanya brought home yesterday. Most people have feelings, believe it or not. ......So? Which is it?"

"...Is this a test?"

"Maybe."

"What do you want me to say, Jasper? Huh? That I won't fuck her again? Fine. I won't. If you don't want me to then I won't. She's a fun girl and a blast in bed - in case you're interested, I highly recommend - and I'll do anything for her, but I'm never going to be her boyfriend. Maybe for a day and maybe while she's sucking my dick, but then I'll see that guy down the street or the one at the end of the bar and I'll want it, I'll want to take it home and I'll want to fuck it. I'll want to fuck it hard and loud and all night long. And then she'll have to pretend she doesn't see him leave and that she doesnt want to cry and I'll have to pretend that I didnt love every fucking minute of being deep inside his tight ass."

Alex passed the cigarette to Jasper who shook his head. Alex shrugged and finished the last few drags himself.

"You see my dilemma then?"

"When you put it that way, I suppose I do." Jasper hated being bested by Alex. It didn't happen often but on the odd chance that Jasper was lost for a rebuttal, he was more than man enough to admit defeat with a firm handshake, which Alex was always man enough to accept without showboating. He took Jasper's hand and helped himself up with it, scratching his ass and Jasper knew he'd be immediately washing his hands as soon as he and Alex were through.

"I'll stop fucking her, Jasper. It's a done deal. But she'll still cry. She'll cry because she likes it too much and she wants it and she wishes she didn't, but she does. So when she asks me why I'm not answering her knocks on my bedroom door anymore, I'll have her come see you and _you_ can explain our little talk. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to continue fucking, ehm, whatever his name is. Thanks for the smoke."

"I hope you find someone some day, Alexander. Someone who makes you want to stop doing this."

".......................doubt it mate!!.............................." Alex's reply echoed down the hall as his bedroom door slammed shut.

**

It isn't Edward's first Sunday at the house but it's _one_ of his firsts. The attic smells like warm hotcakes and coffee and Edward wakes up more rested than he's ever felt in his life. He knows now not to roll over because the last time he did he ran out of cot and landed hard and fast on the wood slats of the attic floor, face first and with enough impact to give him a drip of a bloody nose and a small cut on his chin, which Alex took plenty of erotic pleasure in licking clean with his rough tongue. He has just enough room to stretch out wide enough to know that Alex isn't in the bed with him. He doesn't have to whimper long because Alex is already climbing the steps with a smile and two plates of food carefully perched atop two mugs of coffee.

"I grabbed Sam's portion while he wasn't looking," he teases, pressing a kiss to Edward's forehead and pushing him over to make room. He puts the plate on the mattress and the mug in Edward's hand.

"What's with the food? We're usually the ones scrounging the breadbox for leftover crumbs and making due with the bottom of a cold coffee pot."

"Yeah well maybe if you didn't sleep til noon we wouldn't get last dibs."

"Maybe if you didn't get me a job where I got drooled over all night by every drunk this side of town I wouldn't be fighting them off til 3am."

"True," Alex grins, nibbling at the toast he brought Edward. "So how many ladies phone numbers did you get last night."

"Seven."

"Can you blame them? Who can resist a piano man?" Alex pushes Edward to his back and presses a soaked pancake to his lips, urging him to take a bite. A thin line of butter runs down Edward's chin like blood from a fang and Alex gladly catches it before it makes it's way down his neck.

"So really. Why the breakfast in bed?"

"...It's the last Sunday of the month. Time for church. Seven a.m. mass to be exact. Eat up, drink up, get up, and wash up, dear boy."

"_Mass_?" Edward sneers like someone just gave him a mug of piss. Alex looks quite offended as he jumps up, slips off his bottoms, and slips on a pair of dress trousers Edward's never seen before.

"Why do you say it like that? Have you not noticed the persistent halo floating above my head?"

Edward doesn't ease his glare for the truth.

"Oh alright," he sighs. "Tanya and Alice go every Sunday, every fucking holiday - Lent, Advent, Holy Thursday, Ash Wednesday, you name it they're on their knees praying for God's forgiveness, which God knows they need. Anyway, somewhere along the line they managed to guilt-trip us men into joining them. We take turns. Last month it was Jake's, and I think he liked it to be honest, little choir-boy that he is. I heard he sang along with every hymn like he knew it by heart. He was _filled _with the Holy Spirit. He wanted to go again this month, but it's my turn."

"And you're actually doing it?"

"I can be a good Catholic when I want to be."

"Liar."

"I'll add that one to my list of things to confess. Now let's go check out the altar boys and see if God's got anything new to say."

* * *

**back to the present and Edward and Isabella in the next chapter :)**


	28. Pure balance

**_Pure balance is the second greatest feeling in the world._**

_true love is the first  
_

The bedroom Edward and Isabella shared had a window that faced the front yard, with a sill low enough for Isabella to crawl onto each day and wait out the hour before Edward returned home. It had become a habit that comforted her as she slowly opened up to the routine of the house; that is if "no routine at all" could be considered routine.

Every morning Edward left before it was fully light, tenderly kissing her goodbye before he did. She would stay in bed until she heard the others begin to make noises outside her door. The sounds of breakfast and rushing around and trying not to be late for work. Sometimes there was the smell of coffee - when there was money to buy it, and the sound of bowls hitting the table and then being put in the sink. Once the final door was closed, usually by Jasper, who wasn't used to being bossed around by a clock, Isabella would rise, put on the housecoat Alice gave her and the slippers from Tanya, and slowly creak open the bedroom door. There were days when she first arrived when she would spend the entire day in the room until Edward came home and she'd crawl into his arms weak from hunger and Edward would point to the cheese sandwich on a plate by the door. _You have to eat, darling._

But she was slowly becoming more "sociable" - as Alice put it. "Poor lamb," she used to say. "This must be so hard for her. We have to do our best to make her feel welcome. That means you, too, Alexander," she'd say. "Fake it if you have to."

"I've never faked anything, darling. ...You should know that better than anyone."

As the weeks went by, Isabella found ways to pass the time until Edward returned. In the morning she'd clean up the mess left over from the breakfast she didn't have, washing the few dishes and wiping down the table and counters. Then she'd return to the bedroom to grab clothes and rush down the hall to the washroom; all the while paying special attention to the sounds of the house. Anything coming from upstairs was either Alex or squirrels in the attic - or both. Everything else was the sound of the old house settling into its broken foundation.

The time was bitter-sweet for Edward. In the front of his mind was the notion that the cocoon they lived in could never last. He had nightmares of Isabella leaving him and going back to the life she fled, because she had to. It was illogical and impossible for Isabella to stay with him like this, laughing and playing and fucking all night and sleeping in a dirty tangle on the mattress on the floor.

Edward attempted to stay grounded. It was his turn to let Isabella borrow _his_ clothes and share _his_ mattress and eat _his_ food – even though the items he could afford consisted of bread, butter, crackers, and cheese.

But Isabella loved it. She loved everything about Edward's life and his friends. Edward's friends were true and down for the count, there to bail you out of any scrape or bind without the luxury of money to throw around.

Most nights were spent sitting in the living room and creating music on the spot. Isabella would watch them take turns playing and switching instruments around. She watch Edward go from piano to fiddle to a guitar with half its strings missing but he still managed to play it so beautifully. When Edward was done someone else would take over and Isabella would take his hand and they'd join in the dancing around the living room stomping up clouds of dust from the floor. Tired and sweaty, they'd flop on the old mattress in Edward's room with enough energy left over to help each other out of their clothes with teeth and hands and after their clothes were off they'd claw at flesh and pull hair, biting blood from their lips and Edward's tongue was so warm in Isabella's mouth that he'd almost choke.

It was like being in another world with new people and Isabella was free and there was art and music all around her that she could participate in and not just look down on from the mezzanine. She felt like she stepped into a fairy tale and Edward was her renegade prince.

She couldn't keep her eyes – or hands - off him.

She couldn't stop saying his name or touching him and when Edward spoke – even if he wasn't speaking to her – Isabella listened harder than she ever listened to anyone. Everything Edward said was the most brilliant thing she'd ever heard. When Edward got tipsy he was the most charming thing she'd had ever seen. When he crawled across the mattress into her arms, she would look down at him and think that he was the most beautiful being that God had ever bestowed to the human race. Created in his likeness.

She was losing herself to him; exploding and being swept away.

The revelation of Edward and Alex's former relationship did little to dissuade her or convince her otherwise of Edward's devotion. He showed her every day, with every look and passion filled kiss, with every touch and every savored thrust. There was no denying it in his eyes. They lit up and glowed for her alone.

A cold breeze blew in the through window they left cracked open. The sweat was drying on their skin in muddy trails. Isabella felt Edward shiver and an overwhelming rush of emotion engulfed her. In that second she was more determined than ever to make sure Edward never knew cold or pain or disappointment again. She thought it might actually kill her to see him anything other than happy and safe and warm.

She pulled Edward close, wrapping him in her arms and legs and she smiled as he started speaking.

"Y'know..." he began. "I used to live for those few moments that existed between the time you walked through the studio door and the moment your trainer arrived. If I timed it perfectly I would be warming up when you came in. That meant I had almost five full minutes alone with you.

"But you never even _looked_ at me."

"You treated me like I had no right to."

They shared sad smiles and nuzzled noses and breaths as they talked.

"Edward, I can never tell you how sorry I am-"

"...Shh. No. I understand. I wasn't good enough for you-"

"That's not-"

"Let me finish." He put his finger to her lips. "Let's just call it what it was. …I wasn't good enough for the person you _were_. The person I _thought_ you to be."

He could tell by the wrinkle in her forehead that she was struggling to follow.

"How can I explain this." He gathered her in his arms and cradled her head under his chin. "I was in love with you before we ever spoke....although it was merely physical love at the start." Edward blushed and bit his lip.

"I used to imagine...christ, I can't _believe_ I'm telling you this." He took a deep breath and continued. "I used to go home to my bed after the first few rehearsals, and imagine how it would feel to have your perfect legs wrapped around my waist, your thighs between mine. I would get off so fucking hard just by closing my eyes and remembering the way you'd sweat through your shirts and the patterns that formed as the material stuck to your back.

Then that day came, and it fucking killed me to see you touch him. I tortured myself all the way home. Thinking of you in bed with him and...well I don't want to think about it now. But that day I knew that if I left the studio I might never see you again. And that's when I realized it was all an act. To protect yourself. From Demetri. From the public. From everyone that he surrounded you with. It was sad because I could see the little girl in your eyes and you were being forced to hide it. I wasn't good enough for the person you were forced to be......does that make sense?"

Isabella smiled and nodded and snuggled Edward closer.

"You, on the other hand," she said. "...have never been anything other than perfect and sweet and the most beautiful creature I've ever seen. You took by breath away. You still do. Every day."

Edward tried to squirm out from under the intense attention and slapped at Isabella playfully.

"Well you had a funny way of showing it with your sneers and the fact that you completely denied my existence."

"Maybe in front of you. I put up a pretty good fight that night, ya know."

"Oh yeah?"

"I told Demetri that if he ever got rid of you I would run away, back to America. ...Dramatic? Looking back it was probably stupid. I've placed you in danger, Edward, because he knows I'm with you. It was never my intention. I felt it too. Something in my chest that told me I couldn't live without you. It really scared me when I saw you gathering your things that day. I would have said anything to keep you in that room. And at the time I didn't even know why."

"He's going to try to find you, Isabella. If he's not already looking."

Edward desperately searched Isabella's face for a sign, not letting on that there had been a black sedan parked outside Emmett's house every morning since the day they left. But Isabella just sighed and smiled, pulling Edward on top of her.

"You wanna know something?" she whispered. Edward nodded with a grin and pressed his forehead to hers.

"What's that?" Edward whispered back. Isabella's wide brown eyes swam into Edward's green ones and he felt her grip tighten around his naked waist.

"_I'm not scared_. Living in that place...with Demetri...under his thumb and under lock and key...I didn't know it at the time, not until the moment I met you, but that was not a life. That was barely an existence. And dance, something I've loved for as long as I can remember, became a chore, something I was required to do perfectly or else face the consequences. I always had a knot in my stomach, every second. But with you...I've never felt safer. Never. I've never felt so secure. And," she swallowed thickly, pausing to still her heart. "I've never been so in love. With you. ...I love you, Edward."

It was the biggest risk she'd ever taken. Bigger than fleeing Demetri's wrath. Bigger than giving up dance. She'd never been in love with anything but dance before. She'd been too busy practicing with her head down and her eyes closed, concentrating on the music.

That's how Edward got in.

He _was_ the music.

_Pure balance is the second greatest feeling in the world._

Edward leaned down and kissed her hard and rough, wrapping his fingers around her head and kissing her so hard it hurt. When he pulled back he was panting with mania in his eyes, his gaze skipping all around her face and smiling wide and talking fast. His speech was the opposite of Isabella's slow resolute declaration.

"I love you too. Oh god, Isabella, I do, so much. I've been trying to tell you with everything but my voice for so long because I just couldn't _say_ it. Now you're here and it's ok and I should have said it the day I met you because it was there and I say I didn't know it but I _did_. It's always been there and I swear I'll never let anything hurt you ever again. I'll do everything I can to protect you and never leave you and I'm already looking forward to the day where I can sleep in your arms every night. In our room. In our own place where we don't have to worry about-"

"Edward Edward Edward..." Isabella chuckled putting her palm over his mouth. Edward had worked himself up into a happy frenzy. Isabella pulled him closer and stretched herself against the length of his body, pressing into the mattress and she leaned up and kissed him. He relaxed, sighing contentedly against the soft slow rhythm of Isabella's tongue in his mouth and her lips shifting and sucking at his. He entered her then. Hard and fast, without warning and full of greedy need. She was wet for him and he filled her and pumped inside her and she enveloped him, tightening her muscles around his pulsing length, moaning every time he pulled out, clawing at him to take the loss away and make her whole again.

"Oh god Edward yes. There's nothing like this in the world," she purred as he licked down her neck and chest, outlining the mounds of her breasts with the tip of his tongue, puckering her nipples with the warm breeze of his panting breaths.

"Don't stop, please, Edward, don't...keep going..." she lifted her hips up as he pushed down and he was deeper inside her than ever before.

"No one else," he growled. "No one else but me...ever again."

"You're the only one for me," she promised, fisting through his damp hair and pulling his lips to hers. "Did you hear me?" she asked, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth and biting down on the plump flesh. "Only you. I belong to you alone."

"Always. Bella. Say it. Bella please say it for me." He was begging her but he was so close. He was about to come and he needed to hear it. He crashed their lips together and whimpered at the taste of her mouth on his, her soft tongue and velvet skin.

She dug her nails into the small of his back and forced him inside her roughly and with a slap of their thighs she fell off the cliff shuddering around him with force of her orgasm. One final thrust and Edward grunted, his own release overtaking him and he spilled inside her.

"You didn't say it," he panted. He sounded disappointed but Isabella stilled his fears by placing featherlight kisses all over his sweaty face.

"I'll only say it if there's forever in it. Is there a forever in always, Edward?"

He let out a pent up sigh and laughed against her cheek. "Of course there is, my love. For you they are one and the same."

The next morning, as Edward and Alex stood at the counter fiddling with the toaster and arguing over how to fix it, Isabella came up behind Edward and kissed his shoulder and on her tip-toes she whispered 'I love you' in his ear.

Edward blushed and grinned and turned to kiss her back.

Alex was all raised eyebrows and when Isabella wandered away into the living room to sit with Alice, Alex remained studying Edward carefully.

"What?"

"Nothing," Alex answered. "Just.....be careful, ok?"

Edward bristled and looked quickly at the counter.

"Not _everyone_ is out to break my heart, Alex."


	29. The gift to me is you

A little Valentine's gooey romance for ya xoxo

* * *

**The gift to me is you.**

The night before Valentine's Day, Alex sat in bed reading a book and sulking for one reason or another, when out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Isabella hurrying by.

"Pssst. Swan," he called out. Isabella froze in the hallway outside his door. She had hoped he wouldn't be there - that he was out for the night or at work, anywhere but in the house where there was even the slightest chance they could bump into each other. She still got a nervous lump in her stomach at the sound of Alex's voice.

She took a few steps back and peered into the room at Alex propped up against the headboard.

"..uh...yes?"

Alex waved her in. "C'mere." He put his book down and sat up straight. Isabella quaked in her boots in the center of the room, trying not to look around.

"So," he folded his arms in his lap. "Do you have anything planned? For tomorrow?"

"..."

"For _Valentine's Day_?"

Isabella's mouth fell open but no words came out.

"For _Edward_," he clarified. "You don't have to get _me_ anything, of course. Unless you _want_ to that is."

"I...uh, I've been thinking about it for weeks now. But I don't have a lot of money. _Any_ money at the moment. And...Well, I don't know that much about him. Not yet anyway, but we're working on it," she blushed.

Alex stared silently at the ceiling before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Give me that box," he sighed and pointed to a cigarette box on the battered dresser.

It was the last thing Isabella wanted to do. She didn't want to be in Alex's room, and she sure as hell didn't want him showing her what was in some ratty box. She wanted to turn and run and ignore him when he called after her.

The subject of Valentine's Day brought back tortured visions of the times Demetri had flown her to Paris and romanced her for days in beds covered with constant rose petals. She had no idea where they came from. They would be crushed and scattered on the floor and if she left the room for a second, when she returned they would be back fresh and renewed. She swore Demetri was paying someone just for that one job alone, not to mention the gifts upon gifts and personal chefs cooking in their private suite. She couldn't afford any of the things her Valentine's Day had always included. and maybe, in the box Alex was now impatiently gesturing to, was the secret of the never-ending rose petals.

"Look, doll-face. I'm naked under this sheet, so unless you want me to get up and give you a show, you'll light a fire under it and .."

Isabella bolted for the dresser and gently lifted the box. There wasn't much weight to it but she placed it in Alex's outstretched palm. Alex closed his eyes again for a moment in reverence.

"Sit down and I'll tell you a story. A story of my idiocy, of my absolute disregard for the one thing that ever meant anything to me. …That's what it'll seem like anyway. 'Specially to a smart lady like you."

Isabella rolled her eyes at Alex's constant seemingly complimentary remarks delivered with a smirk and a leer.

Alex opened the box top and reached in, pulling out a dented and tarnished but ornate pocket watch. He spun it between his fingers for a second. forgetting Isabella. hypnotizing himself with memories.

"I'm sure you know by now. About us? He told you?" He waited for Isabella to nod in the affirmative, because if she didn't know, he had a lot of explaining to do.

She nodded. "A little. Just that you used to..." she cleared her throat. "Be together."

Alex chuckled. "Yeah. You could say that. Anyway," he turned his attention back to the watch in his hand. "Our first Valentine's day. We had been dating for almost a year so it was a big deal. I was quaking, much like you are right now."

It was then that Alex turned to her with a look of severity on his face that seemed to beg for her to take his words to the bone.

"We may have ultimately unraveled, Isabella, but you must understand, Edward is not stupid. He's exceptionally bright as I'm sure you're well aware. He would never give his heart to someone who he didn't feel was a worthy recipient. And there was a time when...that first year...it was perfect. _We_ were perfect. We were in love. There's nothing wrong with that, right?"

Isabella shook her head. "No. Certainly not."

"You're not threatened by the past? That's a good thing. No need to dwell on what you are powerless to control or undo."

She nodded and blinked away the thought of tears. "He got you that?"

Alex swallowed and twirled it again. "No....I got it for him."

"Then....why do _you_ have it?"

"Because on our second Valentine's Day he gave it back. Chucked it like a rock against our bedroom door. It cracked in half, but I managed to fix it."

"Why-?"

"He came home from working at the pub and caught me in bed with...Christ, I don't even know who she was. Doesn't matter."

Isabella never heard either Alex or Edward talk in this way about their relationship. She had an inkling that it ended badly, yet somehow they managed to remain ingrained in each others lives. They had both alluded to that. But dates and events and actions made her head reel and she felt a wave of anger boiling up in her belly. Protection for an Edward that she didn't even know.

"I thought you were going to tell me what I should do," she growled, ready to turn and leave but now for a whole other reason.

"I am."

He closed the box again and sat it on the pillow beside him. "I know Edward. I know him better than you do, but not as well as you'll grow to know him. You will end up in that enchanting boy's head in places that I'll only ever dream of reaching. …And I do dream of it. Every night. Of turning back time. Of being with him. Of being _you_. I'll never ever admit any of this out loud again so treasure this conversation always, beautiful lady."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I may have ruined our romantic relationship, but he's such a fucking unbelievable person that he still allows me his friendship. And my friend loves you," he shrugged like it was the world's most obvious answer. "Just be with him and you're already giving him something no one else can. You don't need money." Alex reached back into the box and pulled out a black silk handkerchief with EMC embroidered in the bottom corner. Isabella looked at him curiously.

"Edward _Masen_ Cullen," Alex answered her look. "Masen was his mother's maiden name. I spent a month's wages on it and was going to give it to him for our second Valentine's Day. But then, _that_ happened. ...God what was her _fucking_ name??" He pinched the bridge of his nose but he couldn't remember. "Anyway, Edward wouldn't see me for two weeks after that and the moment's sort of gone by the first of March," he chuckled, but there was genuine sadness and regret behind it.

"Don't fuck it up. That's my advice. You can go now." He snapped the box shut and turned on his side to face the wall.

Isabella made her exit, leaving Alex alone with his ghosts and to hold his candle for Edward in private.

_The next day._

"What do they have you doing in here, oh darling one so near and dear to my _cold, frozen_ heart?" Alex sang melodically, shoving through the kitchen past Tanya, who swatted at him with a dishtowel. He grabbed a piece of toast off her plate and headed full-speed toward Isabella.

"Fuck off Alex. Don't start with her," Alice barked, standing in between him and the stove where Isabella was stirring a boiling pot of something that smelled delicious.

"_Moi? Celui qui vous signifient_?" Alex asked innocently, knowing full well that Alice melted when he spoke French.

"You know exactly what I mean, Alexander."

"We're helping Isabella prepare a romantic Valentine's Day dinner for her and_ Edward_," Tanya annunciated.

"Not that you'd understand the first thing about romance..." Alice grumbled under her breath.

"...when Edward gets home from work tonight it will be all done and YOU will be nowhere in sight. Do you understand that?" Tanya ordered.

Alex tried to stifle a snerk. "And whose idea was that? Yours?" he pointed at Tanya. "...No? ....No, this has the gooey handiwork of a certain Miss Mary Alice Brandon written all over it."

"It was _my_ idea actually," Isabella interrupted. Alex swallowed a throaty laugh and proceeded to choke on the piece of toast he was chomping on. It was a surprising fact. Since most stores and restaurants were operated by the government in 1917 Russia, common people had to stand in long lines to buy bread, meat and other basic items.

"Is that a fact? A dancer AND a chef? What else can you do that I don't know about, Swan?" He pushed Alice out of his way and leaned into Isabella's ear. "Because I thought I knew everything. Or is it just the really good stuff that has you visiting my bedroom at night?"

Isabella blushed and her eyes fell to the floor. "We're making _Cabbage Pirozhki _and Russian salad..." She looked at Tanya for clarification.

"_Salat Olivier_, that's right, sweetie. That was your idea. Edward's going to love it."

"It's not your typical _uzhin_, but the best part is going to be the_ sharlotka_,"Alice said.

"Mmm, yes, that will surely get you laid tonight. Edward's sweet tooth is almost as big as his..."

"Alright, that's enough, Alex. Get out of this kitchen and don't let me catch you prowling around the house tonight," Tanya reprimanded.

"Only if Alice volunteers to keep me occupied." He licked his lips and eyed Alice up and down.

"You're a pig." Alice stomped past him and out of the kitchen but not before slugging him in the shoulder.

"See you tonight!" Alex called after her, grinning and rubbing his arm even though he barely felt it. Tanya followed after her, leaving Isabella and Alex alone. Alex remained propped against the kitchen sink staring at Isabella with a sly grin. Isabella tried to ignore his presence and concentrate on the potato soup.

Finally Isabella set the spoon down and returned Alex's stare.

"What?"

"Don't move." He was gone in a flash and back in an instant. He dropped something on the table and pointed to it.

"Play that. Tonight during dinner. In fact have it playing when he walks through the door. Side one first. That should get you through the main course. And then side two for dessert."

Isabella picked up the vinyl sleeve and turned it. _DeBussy_.

"Trust me," Alex shrugged.

"...I don't know what to say. Thank-"

"Yeah yeah. Just play it."

**

The house was quiet. Not empty, for most everyone was home, but everyone was quiet, in their own private nooks spending their own private Valentine's evenings in their own private ways. Alice and Tanya had bought a cheap bottle of wine and were curled up in Jake's room playing cards and telling dirty jokes. Jasper and Sam were writing a song in the laundry room while Sam tried to convince Jasper to ask Alice out.

And Alex.

Alex was in the attic. Alone. Just like he promised.

Isabella wore the dress Tanya lent her – a short-sleeved light pink frock that cinched at her waist and ended mid-calf. It had a rounded neck that unintentionally accentuated her modest breasts. It was a half-size too big for her and she adjusted and re-adjusted it awkwardly as she fidgeted in the uncomfortable kitchen chair. She stood up and sat down, stirring and restirring the boiling pot on the stove in nervous anticipation of Edward's arrival. He had found a job across town giving beginner piano lessons to the home-bound wife of one of Emmett's co-workers from the mill. It was a safe job paying a fraction of what Edward made at the dance studio, but it was work.

Isabella checked her reflection in the oven door, combing her fingers through the ends of her hair, tucking and untucking it behind her ears, licking her lips, and pinching her cheeks rosy. Then she pulled the door down and took out the dark, heavy bread freshly baked inside.

He'd be home any minute. Isabella had the table set and the entire bottom floor of the house to herself. She hummed as she walked into the living room and over to the record player. She leaned over it and placed the needle down on side one of the vinyl Alex gave her. It scratched and wobbled and just when she thought it was a dud, it began producing some of the most wondrous sounds she had ever heard.

Alex knew what he was talking about after all. She never should have doubted him.

Isabella stood to return to the kitchen, deciding it was time to take the soup from the stove. As she turned her breath hitched in her throat.

Edward stood silently in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the wall, his head cocked to the side. He stared at Isabella with a sideways grin. She took a backwards stutter-step, taken off guard by his tall form and astounding beauty. He wore a fitted black blazer, his copper hair mussed from the wind outside and he held a single red rose between his long fingers.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Isabella," his voice sang through the air. He held the rose out to her. She went to him and lifted it out of his hand. Their eyes met and danced as she brought it to her nose and mouthed, _Thank you_.

"I've never seen you look more beautiful," he exhaled, pulling on the back of his neck. His eyes soaked down Isabella's body in awe. She bowed her head and smoothed her hands down the front of her dress.

"It doesn't fit," she muttered, blushing. "But it's all they could find. I wanted to-"

As if to silence her nonsense talk, Edward lifted her chin and placed his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. The gestured stilled her and she melted into his arms.

"You smell nice," she said into his teeth. "Like outside and inside. Summer and winter. The best of everything."

Edward chuckled and pushed her shoulders back so her could look into her face. "Did you do all this yourself?" His eyes scanned the living room, spotless with a small fire burning in the hearth, and into the kitchen where two candles burned in the center of the table, filling the room with warm, muted light. He walked her inside and inhaled the home-cooked smell.

"The girls helped me. I can't leave the house so I had no way to get you a gift," she frowned. "Edward, I'm sorry, you know if I could have...you know you're all I think about."

"Shhhhh," he soothed, placing his lips to her eyelids, the tip of her nose then resting them on her mouth.

"Just being with you is the best gift you could give me."

She smiled against his cheek and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"He said you'd say that."

"Who said?"

"...Alex."

Edward stiffened, then relaxed into the chair in front of his place setting.

"Oh he did, did he? And how'd that go?" He unfolded the napkin and placed it on his lap.

Isabella spooned soup into a bowl and placed it in front of him. "You don't like me talking to him, do you?"

"Quite the opposite," he replied honestly. "I have nothing to hide. I want you to talk to all of my friends, of which Alex is one. But, you know there's more to it than that."

Isabella pulled out her chair and sat next to him, watching as he dipped his spoon into the soup and put it to his lips. He swallowed and closed his eyes.

"This is very good, " Edward smiled at her as he took another spoonful. She smiled and they ate from their plates as Debussy played in the background.

"Wonderful choice," he commented, raising his eyebrows in the direction of the music.

Isabella cleared her throat daintily. "You loved him," she stated calmly, sitting up straight. Edward swallowed quickly, startled by her presumption. She was not being accusatory or meddlesome in her interest in his relationship with Alex. He knew her well enough to know that she did not waste her time with base reactions such as those.

"Yes. It's true. I did. Very much at the time." His eyes stayed fixed on hers as he spoke the words. He watched for signs of cringe or disgust, but found none in her expression.

"I'm sorry if all of this is too much for you, Isabella. I understand if you are uncomfortable with the arrangement that exists in this house, but please believe me when I tell you that he is a brother to me now. Nothing more. On my mother's grave, I swear that to you."

"Edward, stop such talk." She slid her hand across the table and into Edward's, closing her fingers around his. "You don't owe me an explanation. I think it's wonderful that you've experienced love in your life. Love is nothing to be ashamed of, and it only proves to me how strong your heart is and how extraordinary of a creature you are that you are capable of giving and receiving such love."

Edward's chest tightened and a lump formed in his throat as the power of Isabella's words overcame him.

"You take my breath away. Do you know that, Miss Swan? My beautiful, marvelous, Bella," he murmured, pulling her from her chair and onto his lap. "I love you. I've used those words before, but I've never known the true depth of the emotion until the day you walked into my life."

Edward pushed out his chair and picked Isabella up in his arms and carried her into the living room. In the center of the floor he set her on her feet and hitched her into his arms so their chests were pressed together. Isabella held her breath, unsure of what came next but content to be held by Edward forever.

"Will you do me the honor of dancing with me?"

She answered by holding his magical gaze and tightening her body in his hold. They swayed and their feet moved in perfect time to the music. Even after the needle skipped and slid at the end of the record, they continued to move to a rhythm all their own. Circling the room they knew they needed more and Edward took the lead and began undoing the thin belt around Isabella's waist as they made their way back to their bedroom.

"Perfection," he mumbled under his breath as she stood naked before him, her dress around her ankles, her dark hair cascading in rivulets over her shoulders. "What have I done to deserve a night like tonight?" he asked the angel on his shoulder.

They moved to the bed and Edward undressed quickly while Isabella positioned herself in the center of the mattress. He ran his palms up her calves and the inside of her thighs towards her throbbing heat.

"Wait," she writhed under his touch and Edward froze.

"I'm sorry. Am I-?"

She palmed her hand under the ridge of Edward's defined jawline and smiled sweetly. Nothing was wrong. Nothing at all. How could it be? She had her love between her legs, bare and kneeling at her altar.

"Let me look at you like this, for just a moment," she requested with lust-hooded eyes. The moonlight streaming through the window and the way it fell across Edward's muscled back and pooled in the ridge of his spine. She wanted to memorize the image of his length bobbing between her knees and the pout of his full lips as they waited for permission to combine with her own. Each second beat their hearts louder and faster and Edward's breaths rushed and grew desperate as the perspiration dappled his skin and caught in his chest hairs.

Isabella sighed and laid back, her arms outstretched and she spread her legs and raised her hips inviting Edward in.

"Now," she moaned as she closed her eyes and waited for Edward to fill her body and soul.


	30. Tricks are what you pick up on Broadway

**Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer**

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**

**Tricks are what you pick up on Broadway**

Isabella walked into Alex's room one afternoon on a mission to find Edward's new hand-me-down wool overcoat - the one she saw Edward trying on and looking dashing in earlier. The same one she knew Alex would try to "borrow" and "forget" to give back.

"Hey Alex, have you seen-" she stopped in her tracks. Alex was laying across his bed looking out the attic window in nothing but a pair of faded undershorts and dirty tube socks. He turned his head lazily and looked at Isabella under heavy-lidded eyes, stroking his belly with the tips of his fingers.

"See something you like, Swan?"

"No," she answered quickly and scurried down the steps, her heart pounding in her chest, her cheeks hot with the fire of embarrassment.

Isabella's growing curiosity over Alex and his former relationship with Edward gnawed at the back of her mind like a tapeworm. She wasn't shocked or disgusted by what Edward had told her. She had her own demons that Edward had accepted from the moment he met her. She wasn't even all that threatened, because Edward soothed those fears with kisses and tongues and the weight of his heaving body moving on top of her.

Her reaction to Edward's revelation about was pure curiosity. Who was this boy who had held her Edward's heart, what did he know, what could he do, what did it feel like to be with him. It must have been good and worth it. Imagine all he could teach and show.

Alex tried so hard, with all his very being to get Isabella to crack, to get her to hit him or to just raise her voice. He even lowered his standards to tripping her in the hall like he was seven, "Watch your feet, twinkle toes. I thought you were the Mother Mary, full of grace," he'd snicker. He could see Isabella's jaw clench and her teeth grind but Isabella would just pick herself up and walk into her room and there she would sit, counting the seconds until Edward came home.

There was a time, before Isabella became famous, that she did all of her own makeup and face-paint. Even after her success, she preferred to sit at the vanity table after the make-up artist had left and touch it up the way she liked it.

Alex could play the Russian 7-string guitar and one night Isabella walked in on him writing at the kitchen table. She moved to walk away but swallowed her intimidation and continued into the kitchen to retrieve what she had come in for.

Without looking up to acknowledge her presence, Alex spoke in monotone.

"So, princess. Let's hear it. Is there anything else you do besides dance...and fuck my ex-lovers?"

She debated whether or not to justify his rude question with an answer.

"Well, actually....I can...no, forget it.""

"Tell me."

Isabella was reluctant but she sighed. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

Shortly she returned with a small paper brown bag in hand. She unrolled it and began removing small brushes and bottles and compacts and placing them in neat rows on the table.

"Mm, Red Moscow. I heard of that. Smells nice," Alex commented as Isabella arranged the cosmetics on the table.

He sat still while Isabella blushed his cheeks and lined his lips and filled them with red; his face only inches from hers. She concentrated on his cupid's bow and staying inside the lines and that's when he kissed her. It was soft and harmless and went no further than lip, no tongue, no more than three seconds, and after Alex pulled away all she could think to say was,

"...You, uh, you look really nice in eyeliner..."

She slowly wiped her lip with the length of her thumb, smearing the red down on her chin.

In that very next moment the front door opened and closed and she knew it was Edward's step approaching. Her heart soared and then crashed.

His smell hit her first – musty and salty sweet – followed by the intense heat rolling off his body as he came up behind her wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her flush to his chest. He buried his face into the hollow of her neck and shoulder. She melted into him and rested her head back to give him access to her throat.

"Goddamit I missed you today," he murmured against her throbbing pulse. "I want to take you into the bedroom right now and peel your clothes off..." he stopped his thought as he finally acknowledged Alex's presence and Isabella's obvious handiwork on his face.

"Wow," he chuckled. "I knew you both would get bored in this house sooner or later. ...I'm so sorry to leave you alone all the time, my darling. We'll soon have enough money saved," he whispered into the fair hairs on Isabella's neck. She shuttered in his arms and turned to face him, needing his lips on hers no matter who was watching, but when she did Edward saw the smudge of lipstick on her lip and chin.

His head darted to Alex who stood staring like a deer in headlights. _I don't know why I did it_, his eyes pleaded.

"Ah," Edward sighed sadly letting Isabella go and taking a wide step back. "I guess I didn't realize _how_ bored." he snapped a picture of the scene before him and left the room.

Isabella's hand flew to her mouth as she suppressed a sob. Alex brushed by her and put a finger to his lips. _I'll take care of it_, he mouthed. _Don't cry_.

He followed Edward into the bedroom without knocking and sat down on the bed next to him.

"It's not what it looks like."

"...heard that one before..." Edward mumbled, taking off his boots.

"I thought you'd be glad that I've stopped ridiculing her and...."

"moved right on to hitting on her? There's no happy medium with you, is there?"

"It was nothing, Eddie. It was just...it was nothing."

"Then why'd you do it? Huh? You had to know I would be upset. You can't take advantage of her, Ally. You don't understand the situation she was in before with Demetri and she doesn't know-"

"I know I know you _told_ me."

"Then WHY??"

"I didn't think."

"You can't use that one every time. Why. did. you. do. it?"

"Maybe I wanted to feel closer to you."

Edward stared incredulously, his eyes getting wider at Alex's huge seemingly guilt-free eyes.

"You want to be closer to me so you kiss my girlfriend? By _closer,_ did you mean _this_? Me angry with you and yelling? Is it everything you expected?"

"Not that way. And stop yelling at me. Your fragile lamb will hear and start to tremble." Alex rolled his eyes, closed the door and flopped on the bed with a quieter voice than before. "Look I guess I just wanted to know what was so great, ya know? As if I can't tell by looking at her perfect fucking stupid face every day. Her perfect fucking stupid body. I just wanted to know...why she was better."

"Better?"

"Yeah......than me." He glanced over to Edward then back to his shoes. "I mean you'd think she was magic or something, the way you look at her."

"...she is." Edward answered in a low voice, almost as if he didn't want Alex to hear. "To me, anyway."

Alex rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands under his head, lifting his shirt and exposing his belly. "Alright, so I kissed her. So what? I'm not going to let you pull this holier than thou keep you're hands off my special lady because she's fragile bullshit."

"Is it so amazing to believe that I might have found someone that I love more than you?" The words come out before Edward can stop them.

"Anyway, I don't want this to turn into another rehashing of what happened between us. I'm glad you're being nice to her."

"And that I haven't fucked her. Getting hit on is something I'm sure she's used to, with the way she looks and the career she's in. Don't be naive, Edward. Don't be blinded by love."

"Again."

"And on that note, I'll leave you to it." Alex sighed and opened the door to find Isabella standing outside nervously shuffling from foot to foot.

"Did you get all that, love? No go on in there and make your man feel better about himself. Feel free to do so by either bad-mouthing me, or giving him a tremendous blow job." he smirked and pushed past her.

"I'm sorry, Edward," she whispered as she entered the room and closed the door behind her. "It happened so fast. I didn't know what to do. I'm not very experienced with stuff like this and I didn't want to be rude."

"You don't have to explain. I know Alex and I can't say I'm surprised." He looked over at the red lipstick smeared across her pale face.

"You look sexy."

Isabella tasted the gloss in her mouth and looked down, embarrassed. "Thanks. I was just showing him how I used to do my makeup for shows."

Edward pushed his hand into the center of her chest and backed her up til her knees hit the bed. He licked his lips and cocked his head to the side. Then he shoved her flat on her back and climbed on top of her.

"Is that right?" he growled, nipping her earlobe. His hand found its way inside her blouse and he began to gently palm and fondle her breasts, twisting her nipples until they pebbled. Isabella moaned and writhed underneath his body, pushing her hips up to meet his hardness.

"I don't want him, Edward," she panted, gripping his shoulder blades and pulling him closer, desperate to have him closer, clawing, digging her stubby nails into his muscle. "I want you to know that. I need you to."

Edward froze. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. It was Alex's voice he heard posing as Isabella's. _Don't worry, Eddie. She doesn't want me. She wants you this time._

"Edward? What's wrong?"

"Nuthin." He took a deep exaggerated breath and rubbed his long fingers in his eyes until he saw stars.

"Are you...upset with me?" Isabella asked, her voice full of worry and regret. _He's not ok with what happened._

He turned his head to see her brown eyes filled with insecurity watching him, her bottom lip trembling, her tired eyes sad and scared. _She doesn't want him. This girl. This one right here. She wants me_

"No, baby. I'm sorry. It's ok." He pulled Isabella on top of him and and nestled her inside his warm embrace. She sighed and nuzzled into his chest in between his strong arms. He kissed her hair and reminded himself that he didn't know what he was doing either but that this time would be different. She wasn't going to leave him. It could be good again, like it was in the beginning with Alex. Before Anthony and Arianna and Bradley and Tasha and Mitchell and....

He squeezed his eyes shut and rolled on top of her so he could see her better.

"I love you, Isabella Swan. Please don't ever forget that or doubt it for a second. No matter what might make you think otherwise. Ok? Promise me."

"I know you love me, Edward Cullen. I feel it every day, radiating off you. It's an energy that warms me and makes me whole. And I love you too, so much. Nothing could ever change that or make me doubt it. I promise."

Edward breathed a sigh of relief and placed delicate kisses over her eyes and nose and mouth while he murmured against her soft, supple skin.

"This was unexpected, my soul's connection to you. You stole my loneliness. No one knows that I was wishing for you, a thief, to enter my house of autonomy, that I had locked my doors but my windows were open, hoping, but not believing, you would enter."

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**I found that last quote on a blog somewhere and thought it was incredibly beautiful. I'm sorry I don't know who wrote it or how to credit it properly. If anyone knows, please share. kthx. **


	31. In the eye of the beholder

**Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer**

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**In the eye of the beholder.**

"Y'know what I think?"

"Do I give a shit?"

"Nope. But I'm gonna tell you anyway." Alice slapped a plate of fried eggs in front of Alex and returned to the stove. Alex rolled his eyes. "Can't wait."

"You know what you had with Edward and now you know it's truly over. Having Isabella around _proves_ it's over. I think there was a part of you that didn't believe it was over; that thought that maybe there was a chance. But now, it's obvious there's no chance."

"Is this supposed to be fucking helpful, Alice?" he barks, stuffing a forkful of eggs into his mouth. "What the fuck are you telling me this shit for?"

"Because what you don't realize is that Edward will _always_ love you. He's just not _in_ love with you. Edward knows love. He knows how to get it and he knows how to give it. He's had it, he's been in it, and he's been hurt by it. It's the exact opposite with Isabella. She's never known what it's like to love...until now. Don't take this experience away from her."

"Whatever. It won't last. She'll burn his ass. She'll leave him and I'll be there to pick up the pieces."

"How many relationships has Edward had since you broke up?"

"I dunno – he's fucked around a little. Not a relationship but..."

"...Because he wasn't ready.

"It's Isabella. _She's_ the one who's not ready. She can mingle with royalty and say all the right things in four languages but put her at a breakfast table with a group of people her own age who are fucking having _fun_ and she's lost. It's pathetic."

"It's sad, Alex. That's what it is. It's sad. _You're_ sad. And Edward is happy. Leave him be."

**

"Come with me, Mon Cherie," Alex ordered, nodding towards the back of the house, his black hair fanning across his forehead and covering his right eye. Isabella followed reluctantly, stepping off the porch and taking small, calculated steps doing her best to avoid the various rubbish hiding in the calf-length grass and weeds. There was a step ladder resting against the side of the house just outside the back bedroom window. It led to a little rooftop and when it was dark it was a little invisible spot from the ground.

Alex gave Isabella a sweet smile and he offered a hand to help her get settled. The stars were out and Alex produced a flask of whiskey beside him and lit up a smoke. They sat in silence, Isabella unsure of the purpose of this little visit, unsure of what was expected of her. So she just sat there, making shapes out of the stars, and waited for something to happen.

"I did a really shitty thing to Edward once."

Isabella turned her head to stare at Alex's profile.

He was noticeably nervous. He knew he had no right to lecture Isabella on the matters of Edward's heart, especially after what he'd done to it, yet he felt an overwhelming need to protect him. He knew Edward hadn't told her how their "relationship" had ended. Because if he had, there's no way she would be sitting next to him right now. He also knew that Edward had only gone as far as to tell her that it hadn't worked out between them, and Isabella accepted that explanation as a part of his past that she needn't be threatened by.

"I know it's not fair of me to say this," he began, exhaling twirls of smoke through his nose. "but if you don't mean it, _really_ mean it when you tell him you love him, then just leave...tonight. I'll make something up. I'll tell him you had to run because you heard they were coming. I'll think of something. Just," he choked up and tears began to fall no matter how angrily he tried to hold them back. "Please don't hurt him. It's already happened too many times and I can't bear to watch it again."

"Alex, you don't have to protect him from me."

"I'm protecting him from himself." His shoulders shook as he held back the sobs and the cold air of the night. Reality was crashing in on him, finally, mercilessly, and he was powerless to stop it. "He falls for people too fast and too hard. It's because he's so good. So genuinely fucking annoyingly good. He sets himself up to be crushed and-"

Isabella reached blindly and found Alex's hand in hers. She squeezed it and smiled sweetly. Her hand was warm and Alex wished he had a warm hand to hold whenever he needed it. He wished he had so many things; so many of the things he pushed away.

"Maybe he falls just like everyone else," she said softly into the night. "Maybe he hasn't had the best of luck with the people he's falling for. And...Maybe it's a new day."

Isabella choked on her last words, because she knew she wasn't always the nicest to Edward when they first met. She was downright rude and condescending, her confusion over her feelings for him made her hurtful on purpose, right up until the first night she caught him outside her show.

"Look, I appreciate the way you care for him," she continued. "It means the world to me to know that he has friends like you who have only his best interests at heart. And I'll tell you something...I haven't always treated him like he deserved. I was awful to him in the beginning." She felt her own tears coming as she remembered the looks of anguish on Edward's face after the various ways she rejected him.

"It's not an excuse, and I'll hate myself forever for the way I hurt him, but it's because I was scared of how he made me feel. Maybe it was the same for you."

Alex nodded. Isabella couldn't be more right on about that.

"When I tell him I love him, Alex, I mean it more than I've ever meant anything in my entire life."

"Do you love him more than dance?"

"Without question. And I came to Moscow to dance. I've given up everything for dance. My family, my friends, my homeland. But Edward..." she sighed. "_He_ makes my body move. I'd gladly give up all control and put it in his hands."

"Wow."

"I wish I could have you walk around inside my heart, Alexander, and feel how it beats for him and him alone. He is my everything. And to think, we've only just begun speaking to each other. In fact, we've never spent an entire night together until I came here."

She left out a few important details; a girl's heart is not an open book, and the memories of Edward waiting in his bed for her to come through the window, the desperate ways they'd tear each others clothes off, quickly then hard hard hard fast, flesh against flesh, panting, a few kisses and licks and then she was gone again without words until the next day at the studio when it was awkward glances and embarrassed looks at the floor; those memories that blushed her face where hers to keep.

**

Edward pulled Isabella onto his throbbing shaft and thrusted into her in one fluid motion, deep and filling her to the hilt, she bounced on top of him so hard he was scooted across the mattress and growled for her to make noise.

"There's no one to wake up in this house," he growled. "I want to _hear_ you, Isabella. I miss your screams."

She threw her head back and moaned to the ceiling as she rode him.

"That's it. That's it, baby. Say it. Say my name," he panted. He rocked his hips off the bed and sucked in his breath at the sight of her above him. Her long hair hanging over her breasts, her tongue out and traveling across her bottom lip. The sound of her wetness sliding him in and out of her opening.

"_Edwarrrrd_," she cried, dropping to his chest.

"Almost. Almost. We're almost there together my love. Always together." He wrapped his arms around her back and held her tight while he pushed into her again. He was doing most of the work this time. Isabella tired quickly when she was on top.

"Yes, oh god Edward yes. You feel...I'm going to..." She tensed and her walls clenched around Edward's shaft. She bit down on his shoulder and began to shudder. Edward hissed at the sensation of Isabella coming around him, her wetness seeping between his thighs. One more thrust was all it took and he was spilling inside her, coming with her as she rode out the end of orgasm and prolonged his.

"Fucking christ that was amazing." He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her lips. He stayed on her lips, kissing her languidly and messily with tongue, their chins and lips covered in each others saliva.

"Was that the best you ever had?" Isabella asked innocently against his teeth.

"Without a doubt. The best ever." He smiled sincerely and leaned up again to keep kissing her but she pulled her head away before he could reach her lips.

Edward looked at her in confusion.

"What's wrong?"

"Are you sure? Are you sure it was the best you ever had?"

"Yes I'm sure. Was it the best _you_ ever had?" Edward propped himself up on his elbows to look at her more closely. She was still laying on his sweaty chest.

"Of course. But you've had much more than me. I've only had you and-" _you know who._

"Where is this coming from? Why are you so insecure suddenly?" His forehead creased with concern and he stroked her cheek with the palm of his hand. "I love you, Isabella Swan. With all my heart. Please tell me what's bothering you."

"Nothing. It's nothing." She waved the thought away and snuggled onto his chest. He sighed and ran his hands through her hair in a desperate show of love and reassurance. but deep inside he knew that Isabella's new-found struggle with insecurity was a result of living in a house with a constant reminder of his past. How would he feel if the tables were turned? If he was sharing a space with someone who'd been with Isabella, and not just been with but had history and baggage with. He knew how he would feel. It would drive him mad.

Maybe this arrangement wasn't going to work after all.

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**Thank you again to those who read, and support, and review.**


	32. If it isn't pretty, it isn't correct

**Thank you so much for the wonderful response to the last chapter. i'm grateful to the faithful core of readers, followers, and reviewers.  
**

**here's another nugget.  
**

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**If it isn't pretty, it isn't correct.**

It was a warm afternoon in May and the artist house was quiet. Edward was at work across town and due to arrive home in under an hour. Isabella's stomach had been tied in knots made of butterflies since 5am that morning in anticipation of his arrival. She took an extra long, extra warm bath and enlisted Alice's help in washing and combing through the knots in her long brown hair. She powdered and lotioned her skin, taking extra care on her breasts and lower abdomen, where she hoped Edward would be paying special attention the moment he saw her and for the rest of the night behind the closed door of their bedroom. She was desperate for time alone with him. It felt like years had gone by since she felt the weight of his body pressing on top of hers, his skilled and careful way of nudging open her legs before he took her. The tender sucking of his mouth on her nipples, the low purr of his vocal chords against her skin as he hummed and writhed in steady time with her movements. The way he murmured into her ear between each powerful thrust, words that made sense only to her because their hearts were connected and could interpret meaning.

She sighed in exasperation and closed her book, placing it beside her on the couch. Her fantasies, though enjoyable, were only serving to work her up and make time pass slower.

_Edward. Come home_, she whispered to the empty room. _I'm so tired of missing you_.

Edward had been staying at Emmett and Rosalie's house for the past few days in a continued and carefully orchestrated attempt to put Demetri's thugs off Isabella's scent, to bluff them out of thinking that he was harboring her or had information as to her whereabouts. He had been questioned several times through the open window of the blacked-out sedan the past few weeks and each time they drove away with as little information as they arrived with. According to Edward, the trick was working. The sedan hadn't been seen in over a week. But Edward didn't trust that the coast was clear. He was insistent in keeping up the rouse for Isabella's safety and the safety of everyone who called the artist common house a home. The location of the house could never been uncovered, or all would be lost.

In the meantime, Alex and Isabella were slowly growing accustomed to the confines of their forced co-habitation. Alex reluctantly accepted Isabella's presence and had to admit that her cooking was far superior to Alice's, and since Tanya was refusing to cook for him out of spite, he agreed to do Isabella the honor of allowing her to feed him.

He was also becoming increasingly intrigued by Isabella's dancing.

Before Isabella started living at the house, they referred to her as "that dancer" or "your dancing doll" when talking to Edward about her. As they got to know her, and as Alex began to ease up on his merciless wrath, she became one of them, someone they called to the dinner table, a friend they confided in before bed. And Alex started to look at her with different eyes. He started to notice the angular way she bent to pick up the dishtowel from the floor; the way she pulled on and laced her shoes; the way she glided around the house; agile, cat-like, precise in every movement.

Isabella picked up her book and tried to lose herself in the drab storyline in a desperate effort to force time to move faster. It was starting to work when a shadow passed over the page. She looked up to find Alex standing over her.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Show me," he demanded curtly.

"Show you what, exactly?" She immediately regretted phrasing the question in that manner and desperately wished for the front door to open and for her beautiful love to show himself.

"Show me how to dance," Alex answered quickly.

"OH. ...Um," she put her book down again and placed her hands in her lap. "Well, it's complicated, really. It's not something I can just...it takes years of practice, training your body to move a certain way and..."

"I get it. Training, years of dedication, etcetera. That's brilliant. Then_ show me_. Show me how to move."

Isabella stood up slowly. Alex didn't budge. He was a few inches taller than she. Tall enough for it to be necessary for Isabella to tip her eyes up in order to see into his.

She put her hands on her slim hips and looked Alex up and down, assessing his frame and the lanky way he stood, like a blanket draped over a bedpost.

"Alright well...stand up straight. That's the first thing."

"I am."

"No. You're not." Isabella stepped behind him and put her hands on his waist. She squeezed and pulled back, pushing in the small of his back at the same time.

"You have to imagine a rod straight up your spine. but one that can collapse an inch at a time. You have to be firm and liquid at once."

Alex snickered and Isabella blushed.

"Anyway...um...ok raise your arms."

Alex threw his arms over his head at clumsy boy angles and forced. "Like that? That's too easy. If you spent years training for _that _then put me in a pair of tights and show me the way to the theater. I'll have them on their feet."

Isabella giggled behind her hand. "Actually no. Not like that. at all. Um...ok let's try again. Slowly this time. Be aware of where every part of your body is and what it's doing at once. It's all timing and shape....it's more complicated actually. I don't..."

She paced around to the front of Alex again, twisting her long hair into a makeshift ponytail. She could feel Alex's eyes on her and when she looked up she noticed a scar on Alex's top lip.

"Where did you get that scar? From fighting?"

"Yeah and I won too. You should have seen the other guy. Why?"

Isabella disregarded the question, not wanting it to seem like she cared if he fought.

"Ok look. Throw a punch at me. but slowly. As slow as you can but just like you would if you were going to really hit me, alright?"

Alex shrugged and raised his shoulders, squared his hips, set his feet and hunched his head. Looking out the tops of his eyes he brought his arm up slowly into a graceful arc and around keeping with the line of his body until his knuckles brushed Isabella's cheek.

"Like that? Whats that got to do with anything?"

"That's what I'm trying to teach you. You already know what to do. You were aware of every part of yourself. Now you need to control it. And channel it into something useful."

Isabella stepped back behind him and pushed his arms back to his side.

"Ok try again."

She placed her fingertips under Alex's elbows to lead the shape.

"See? Wonderful."

Next, Alex wanted to know how to spin. He wanted to see how high Isabella could jump and he couldn't control the amazement on his face when Isabella leapt across the entire room like a deer. Before they knew it they had linked hands and Isabella wasn't blushing anymore and she was brushing her hands down Alex's body showing him which muscles should be doing the work to pull him to a standing position, _one link of your spine at a time, these muscles in your side, these in your stomach_.

An hour later, Edward walked into the living room, keeping to the shadows when he heard voices talking over each other, and he watched in shock at Alex and Isabella standing in the middle of the floor smiling and giggling and looking down at Alex's feet as he tried in vain to get them into a straight line.

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**I know that didn't technically advance the plot, of which there will be advancement I promise, I just thought it was important to see the relationship between Alex and Isabella progress, because it becomes more relevant as the story continues.**


	33. Send me an angel

**Send me an angel**

Isabella had never kissed anyone but Demetri and Edward and that one mistake with Alex.

Madly in love with Edward but living with his ex-lover was a constant, relentless attacking reminder to Isabella of her considerable inexperience in life and love and sex. Her insecurity consumed her every moment of every day, every time she saw pretty little Alice – dainty and sweet – and tall, lithe Tanya – Grecian and gorgeous. They were several years older than she, and Isabella began to do mathematics to assess their experience level in all things in relation to hers.

Then she moved on to more dangerous territory. She began to imagine what Edward and Alex used to do together. Wondering at first if Edward used to kiss Alex the way he kissed her or if it was different. She knew she kissed Edward differently than Demetri. Edward's kisses were filled with lust and unexplainable passion, while Demetri's kisses were forced and made her sick to her stomach.

She progressed to thinking about how many times Edward and Alex had sex. How many times Edward told Alex that he loved him. Then thinking about how many times Alex fucked him. Then wondering if Edward had even been with a girl before and why had they never had discussions about sex....then thinking about the way _she_ fucks him and what she gives to him in bed and maybe she should experiment more and not just lay there, maybe she should move around more and practice how to take him into her mouth. Would he like that? What does he like? Would he want to take her from behind? How would she even know if that's one of his fantasies? She winced. _How does one do that? Who would...show me_....she swallowed thickly as she allowed her mind to finish the absurd thought.........._Who better to know how to fuck Edward...than...Alex_."

A little strand of Christmas lights clicked on in her mind and she suddenly realized she'd been staring at Alex from across the living room.

He threw a pillow at her from the tattered couch where he sat reading and she ducked.

"Hey! What the fuck are you looking at?" he laughed teasingly. Isabella took the pillow and threw it back at Alex's head.

"Sorry. Geez."

He went back to reading but still felt Isabella's eyes on him. So he huffed. Closed the book. Laid it on his chest and laced his fingers together on top of it.

"Alright. Are you going to tell me what's on your mind or are you going leer at me all night?"

"I wasn't leering."

"No I suppose not. I don't think you're capable. Leering requires a certain loss of innocence that you, my dear, could never accomplish with that gleaming halo of half chastity around your pretty little head."

"........Actually....um...."

Alex whipped his head around, saw Isabella's blush and jumped up so quickly his book fell to the floor.

"Did you finally do it??" Alex asked, mouth agape. He'd been making dirty, crude comments and suggestions on how to improve her sex life with Edward every chance he got; mostly out of jealousy and the rest out of uncontrollable curiosity.

Isabella was unsure which one of those suggestions Alex was currently referring to.

"No. But...Well I was wondering...."

"You were wondering.....how to...?"

"...Something like that."

Alex wanted so badly to pounce on her, strip her naked, grab a bottle of lube and get down to a right demonstration, but he remembered the conversation he had with Edward after the night he kissed her. He'd screwed Edward over, literally, dozens of times and should be down on his knees thanking God that Edward still gives him the time of day instead of on his knees teaching Isabella how to suck a guy off.

"Well, dear," Alex says, grabbing his book and standing up stretching. "That's something that you hafta learn on your own, like learning how to swim, you gotta dive right in and figure it out as you go. "

"I know that...but...but you already _know _what he likes and..."

"You want me to tell you how he likes to be _fucked_?"

It killed Alex – the desire to rub it in Isabella's face, to go into exhausting detail and answer all those personal, private questions that Isabella had no right to ask. Alex was a born show-off, proud of his sexual prowess and conquests, and proud in general that he'd been with Edward.

"I don't want him to get bored of me," she blushed and answered weakly.

"Oh darling I doubt that will ever happen. Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

"...Thanks," she blushed hotter. "But I also want to know what it feels like. what..._he_ feels like...everywhere. I have to know every inch of him."

"Christ, just do it then. When you're in the moment, when you're in bed and you're naked and kissing and you know what's going to happen next, turn over and stick that fine ass of yours in the air and he'll know. He'll get behind you and he'll push down on your hip and bend your knee and slide himself in..."

Isabella's heart pounded in her chest and she felt the beads of sweat forming in her hairline. "...Th-then what?"

"Fucking hell, Swan, what do you think happens next? You let him fuck you! The same thing he does to you every night. I should know – I have to listen to it. The walls aren't _that_ think."

Isabella turned her head away, embarrassed at how naive she was coming across.

"What do you want me to say? You want to know my secrets? You want me to tell you the moves that make him moan, the dirty things he likes to hear while he fucks you, does he really mean it when he tells you how amazing you feel? Because if I tell you these things, and you use them, he's going to know it's me."

"You left quite an impression on him, that's fairly obvious," Isabella rolled her eyes.

"Hey, what can I say." Alex pulled at his shirt and smirked triumphantly. "Anyway, you have to find your own way. I can't help you."

Alex started to leave the room, knowing he was treading on thin ice. It's what got him into trouble his whole life. He can't just leave a conversation alone, he can't help himself from turning and saying one last thing.

"Oh and...if you want to go over any moves, you know where my room is. My door is always open. Even when it's closed. ...Night night."

Alex didn't expect the knock on his door that night. Edward was supposed to be spending the night with Isabella after almost a week of nights apart, and besides, Alex didn't think there was any way in hell Isabella would seek him out. In his room. Even after his passing remark. He was so convinced that he didn't give it another thought. Instead he went out to the pub and came home with a friend and was currently entertaining himself between the legs of said friend, a redhead named Fiona, when there was a timid knock on the door.

"What the fuck do you want??" Alex bellowed from the bed.

He figured it to be Alice, who'd seen him climb the stairs with the girl and if she had enough to drink since then she might try to ruin it for him.

"S-sorry. You said...never mind," came the meek voice from the other side.

And like a shot, Alex was up, throwing the girl her dress and swinging the door open in a second flat. He stood there naked, as far dressed as he had managed to get. Isabella blushed bright red at the sight of the crazy-haired girl furiously pulling her dress over her head. She stuttered through another apology as she backed down the ladder.

Alex grabbed her wrist.

"No. It's ok. Friends before fucks, right" He turned to his...companion...and grinned. "You understand dontcha dahling?"

"Don't fucking call me darling you-"

"Whoa now easy," Alex put his hands up in surrender, smiling at Isabella and jerking a thumb towards her rolling his eyes.

As soon as she was gone, Alex closed the door...thought for a moment...then locked it. He lit a cigarette and sat down on the bed patting the place beside him.

"I didn't expect to see you. Where's our favorite boy tonight? I thought he'd be in _you_ right now. …Or is that why you're here?"

"He can't come. He came by for a minute and said he couldn't stay again. He doesn't want to take any chances."

"Hmm," Alex nodded and took a drag, exhaling through his nostrils. "Isabella, if you don't explain why you're here in about three seconds I'm going to assume what I've already assumed and get on with it." He leaned back on the bed and slid his index finger under the waistband of his shorts.

"I...I..." Isabella stumbled.

A sudden flurry of arms and hair and a jerk and push and Isabella found herself with no air in her lungs and the tip of a cigarette in her face, her shoulders pressed to the mattress and Alex straddling her hips. He murmured against her cheek.

"Lesson One. Position One. Missionary. How to make the most of it."

Alex casually dry-humped against Isabella's thigh, enjoying the friction against his still semi-erect cock....but he ended it there. He could have turned it into a carnival ride if he wanted to, because he didn't want to stop. And not because he thought Isabella was the hottest woman he'd ever seen. He thought her good looking with a tight body who could move like flames, but once he was on top of her and saw the fear and excitement and naivety in her eyes, the real animal in him started clawing against the cage doors wanting out.

He rolled onto his back. "That's all you get this go around, petite-one. I'm wiped out from the firecracker that just left. She's a party girl, that one. Tight, flexible. I'll add her to the list."

Isabella tilted her head to the side and looked curiously at Alex, who rolled his eyes 'not again' and reached for another cigarette.

"_What_?"

She leaned up on her elbows and wiped her sweaty bangs from her forehead. "I thought you were...that you liked..."

"_Boys_? _Cock_? Well, yeah. That's my preference. But I'm an equal opportunity employer. I like sex, Isabella. It's good. It feels good, it tastes good, it sounds good, some things sound and look and taste better than others but - look - you have a favorite food right? If you had a choice you'd eat it all the time. But if you didn't have that favorite food in front of you and you were hungry, you wouldn't starve, would you? Of course not. That's what girls are for. They'll do just fine. ...I don't expect you to understand, right away. So, the homework assignment for tonight is to think about what you'd like to do for Edward in bed, mull it over, report back and I'll see what I can do to help. On a purely professional level, of course."

**

At breakfast the next morning, Alex strolled into the kitchen, walked up behind Isabella at the sink and pressed his cock into the crack of her ass through their nightdress.

He murmured, "You were great last night," into her neck.

Isabella playfully pushed him off of her with a sharp elbow and Alice raised an eyebrow at them from across the kitchen where she was sipping her tea. Alex raised one back at her, but Alice would get the last smirk because right then the front door flung open and Edward came blowing in with a string of cold wind. Isabella spun around and squealed at the sight of him and Edward rushed to her with a huge smile. He shrugged off his coat as he walked, dropping it to the floor and pulling Isabella into a deep kiss.

"I thought you had to be at work this morning," Isabella moaned into his mouth, clawing her fingernails up and down Edward's back and through his thick hair.

"I do," Edward panted. "I can be a little late. I needed to see you."

"Miss me?" she giggled. Edward smelled like pine and cold air and the warm, perfect body she missed waking up next to. He was exquisite even in the same clothes we wore every day. But he wore the clothes, they did not wear him, and she loved him more than she knew possible. Every time she saw him, the feeling increased. It was an intense, pressing force inside her chest that she treasured when he wasn't around.

"You have no idea," he growled, tracing the outline of Isabella's breast with the tip of his index finger. She moaned and tossed her head back.

Without another word – just the pull of Bella's bottom lip between her teeth and the twinkle in Edward's eye – they tripped over each other as they raced towards the bedroom.

Alex watched them go, nibbling on a scone and feigning disinterest.

"I don't know which of them you look more jealous of," Alice said sarcastically.

"Oh shut it. I don't see how it's any of your business."

"What goes on in this house _is_ my business. Just as it's Jake's business and Sam's business and everyone else who lives here and suffers every time one of us is hurting. If you hurt Edward again I can't vouch for your safety. If Jasper ever found out that you were behind a closed door with Isabella _alone_ he'd pull you outside and..._address_ it. _You_ know it as well as I."

Alice sipped at her tea and skimmed through a week old paper they got out of the neighbor's yard. Something about the way she so causally made the remark made Alex want to sweep everything in front of her off the table.

"Look, _she_ came to _me_."

"_Oh_ well_ that_ makes it alright. That's what you're going to tell Edward then? That Isabella started it? I'm positive that will go over just fine. He won't be upset at all. You're always the innocent in every situation, Alex. Even with a body under your bed and blood on your hands, it's never your fault."

"That's not true. What happened with me and Edward before...that was my fault. I've never said it wasn't. I'm an idiot, ok? But I _told_ him that. He knew from the start that I was trouble."

"Ah. And who's going to tell that to Isabella?"


	34. The need to call it to your attention

**Thank you so so much for the reviews and support for this story. Your feedback is invaluable and I appreciate every review more than I can even tell you. I knew this part of the story was going to get cringe-worthy. Thanks for sticking with it. We'll be moving on shortly.**

**Twilight belongs to Steph Meyer**

* * *

**The need to call it to your attention**

Isabella returned to Alex's room that next night. Alex was alone, even though he could have had his pick at the pub that night. He saved his bed space for a visitor that he was sure would arrive. So much so that he was sitting up in bed with only the ratty whitish sheet semi-covering his bare leg and draped across his naked waist. He heard the knock but said nothing, knowing the turn of the knob would come without invitation. The light broke through the crack and Isabella appeared. Alex already had his cigarette lit.

"Sooooo?" Alex shifted over to give her room. Isabella sat on the very very edge of the bed and fiddled with the hem of her thin nightdress.

"How'd it go?" he continued. "Edward had the hunger of the wolf in his eyes this morning. He's always ravenous in the mornings, isn't he? His cock is definitely a morning person."

Alex turned his thought to the ceiling and reflected, stroking his chin exaggerating the point. He was becoming shameless with his bragging lately and Isabella rolled her eyes.

"Did you put into practice what we 'talked' about last night, when you happened upon my bed chamber?"

Alex barely had a chance to think of his next cheeky sentence when Isabella attacked him, flinging back the sheet exposing Alex's nakedness, adopting the same position Alex had her in last night.

"Like this, right?" Isabella asked.

"S....so you did it then?..." Alex answered, completely fucking stunned.

Isabella slid off of him and covered her eyes with her arm.

"No," she huffed.

Alex took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling. He should tell her to leave. He knows right from wrong. Yes from no. Doing it from walking away. It's mustering the discipline for the follow-through that he's always had trouble with. _get out, Isabella, you're not mine. worse yet you're Edward's._

But he didn't. He leaned up on his elbows and reached to put the cigarette out in the ashtray beside the bed.

"C'mere." He laid back and motioned towards Isabella with his hands. Isabella looked at him warily.

"What for?"

"Look, do you want me to help or not?"

She sighed and scooted forward. Alex spread his legs and pulled her closer to his chest, hooking his legs around the small of her back. He knew he was playing a dangerous game as he slipped his arms around her shoulders.

"You have to be sure of yourself. Confidence is the sexiest thing in the world. You have to know in your heart that...if he loves you, anything you do to him is going to be heaven." He laced his fingers through the back of her hair and pulled her head down so his lips were at her ear.

He smiled when he heard Isabella gasp.

"If I were Edward..." he began. "What would you want to do right now?"

Alex reached down between them and squeezed the hardness between his legs.

"It's not the time to be shy, _Isabella_. How would he want to use this?"

"I-I don't know."

"Instinct. What is it telling you?"

He took her hand, sending her thudding down onto his chest. He traveled her hand down the length of his torso and stopped it just as it reached his thicket of pubic hair. Her breath hitched and she tried to wrench her hand away but he held firm. He nodded, telling her with his eyes to move her hand around.

"Feel that? Look down at what you've done to me," he hissed. "Doesn't that make you feel good? That you're driving me crazy, just like you drive Edward crazy. Where's that confidence Edward tells me you have when you're onstage? He said that people can't take their eyes off you, that you control them with the point of your toe."

He felt Isabella's hand tighten around his cock and he squelched back a moan that even he wasn't expecting.

"See? You know what you're doing. You're the one in control right now. Even if I wanted to be, I couldn't, because..." and he crunched the muscles of his abdomen to push up slightly "because I. _want_. _it_. I. want. _you_."

He collapsed back on the bed and dug his shoulder blades into the mattress. "Fuck." he scrunched his eyes closed and shook his head - _I've____ said too much__. She doesn't get it. She doesn't see how wrong this is. ____it's going too far__._

Isabella was completely lost in the moment. She saw Edward before her eyes, not Alex. The excitement pounding in her chest was just that – learning how to please Edward and the look on his face when she put into practice what she had learned. She would make him feel good, and he'd never leave her. Everything he was doing to help her, to save her from Demetri, it would all be worth it for him. She would be everything he could ever dream of.

Isabella might not have been thinking in reality, but Alex was. He was making little deals with himself and reasons and excuses. _He's technically HELPING Edward because he's training his lover. That's all it is. A completely selfless act. He's giving Isabella confidence._ _That's all_. And every time Isabella rubbed up against him or moaned against him, he made that many more excuses.

"Isabella stop." He felt Isabella's hand brush the inside of his thigh and he groaned and his hips bucked in the air, "Isabella. STOP."

He pushed her back hard by her shoulders. He pulled his knees up and crossed his arms over his face. Isabella sat blinking and panting and recovering at the bottom of the bed.

"Lesson's over. Get the fuck out," he spat.

Isabella rocked silently, bent over at the waist. Her eyes were wide and wild like she'd narrowly missed being hit by a train.

"Alex, I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me...please, please don't say anything to Edward about this." Isabella's voice sounded so innocent and pitiful and frightened.

"I thought I told you to get out," Alex stared at the wall above the headboard.

"W-why? Are you angry with me?"

"_Why_?? .....Because you're too young for me. That's why. Did you really think I was going to _fuck you_?" Alex snerked, to hide his unravelling.

"You let Edward."

"Shut up about Edward! You don't know what you're talking about."

"But I thought you said..." she mumbled the rest inaudibly "..._that you wanted me_."

"I KNOW WHAT I SAID!! NOW GET OUT!!" Alex yelled and rolled onto his stomach groaning at the stabbing pain in his blue balls. He'd lost control somehow. He could honestly say without a doubt that he'd never been in a situation like this -simulating sex with his former lover and best friend's current lover, who was ready for an actual practice demonstration. What would Edward do if he walked in on them right now? What would he think, say, how would he feel?

_No. Not again. Not ever again. _

"Christ," Alex sighed sitting up. "You can't be this naive. You just can't." He slowly shuffled across the mattress next to her, wrapping a sheet around his waist and folding his hands in his sweaty naked lap.

"Enough of this doe-eyed innocent routine, Isabella. Do you have any idea what was about to happen?"

Isabella's gaze shifted to the floorboards as she tried to grasp the concept. "You said, _If I were Edward what would you want to do right now_. You said to be confident, like when I'm onstage."

Alex shook his head in disbelief and rubbed at his eyes with his finger and his thumb. "Uhhh, right. Fine. You're right. So let's review, then. I let you suck me off, like a dress rehearsal before opening night. And it's great, it would be great. _That_..." he pointed to the center of the bed where they were just tangled. "...would have been great. But then what? When it's over we go back to normal? Is that how it works in your pretty little head?"

"....I..." Isabella couldn't believe how embarrassed she was. "I guess I wasn't thinking. I was swept away and..."

"I know. But it's my fault. I pressured you, I used you. It's what I do, Swan. It's best you know now. It's in my nature. I find your weaknesses and I exploit them. Without you even realizing it's happening you're naked in my bed. I call it a talent." Alex raised his eyebrows and smiled a chesire cat smile.

"Next thing you know I'm coming in your mouth in your hand in your ass, and if we kept going like we were just now, you'd be coming right along with me. It's all part of the plan. If this were any other time in my life, Isabella, I can assure you that we would _not_ have stopped."

"So why did you? Because of Edward?"

"Can you _please_ stop saying his name? Fucking hell. You're like a nun wielding a guilt trip." He rubbed at his eyes with his thumbs. "But, if you want the truth...yes."

"You still love him, don't you?"

"...Yeah. I do. He knows it. It's not a secret. But don't think I was doing _this_ to get him back. Even I know better than that. There is no such thing as getting him back for me. Ever."

"Jesus. What did you do to him?"

"Ahhhh, _that's_ a conversation for the pub," Alex leaned over and gave Isabella a kiss on the cheek.

"I think you better go."

"This is it, then."

"Yeah. it has to be. and no one will ever believe that I just said that," he snickered. "Look, don't feel guilty about it. It wasn't me you were thinking about. And I prefer it that way - for sex to be about the physical act and not the person, that way no one's feelings get hurt. But. I like you. I didn't want to and I really tried not to. I made a point to make your life here unpleasant at best. Then you moved in and were sleeping here and showering here and walking around with a see-through nightie on and...you don't know me, Isabella. It's not in me to let something like that go. ....Take me warning...and don't _ever _come to my bedroom again."

Isabella nodded and headed for the door.

Alex flopped back in bed and watched her leave.

"Hey. Isabella."

She turned and Alex was startled by the striking features of her beauty. She could be a painting.

"Yes?"

"I give you a perfect score for the course. The sex would have been amazing if we kept going. You're going to do great. ...Edward is a very lucky man."

**

As expected, the energy in the house turned noticeably awkward. In an instant it had gone from Alex being snarky and rude to Isabella every chance he could, to them actually getting along and semi-flirting, to them avoiding each other at all costs. It was more _Alex_ avoiding Isabella and Isabella doing her best to get out of the way.

Everyone noticed. It started the very next morning with Alex snatching up his breakfast and scampering back up the stairs when Isabella appeared in the kitchen. All day, if Isabella was inside then Alex was out. When Alex came in, he made sure he was on the side of the house that Isabella wasn't and Isabella spent as much time locked up in her room as she did when she first arrived.

Jake asked Tanya who asked Sam who asked Alice about it and Alice shrugged. They were on pins and needles, waiting for Edward to notice the change and tension.

And when he finally did, he went straight to Alex who was hiding on the roof balcony with his feet propped on the rail.

Edward sat beside him and shook his head when Alex offered him a cigarette.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"Pardon?"

"It's funny how you think you can still pull that innocent shit with me. Fucking hilarious, Ally. I haven't seen you and Isabella in the same room together for the last two days and the fact that until last Wednesday you were getting along like kittens in a basket leads me to believe that something happened. You _did_ something. Wednesday night. _Tell me_."

Alex took a long drag and pondered the question. "Oh you mean _Wednesday_ night. Like the night after Tuesday night. Aaaahhhh...I can't. You'll have to ask your girl."

"You _can't?_ So you're admitting that you did something?"

"I absolutely am not."

"Alex just-"

"Can't."

"But-"

"Nope."

"Bastard."

"So everyone keeps saying."

Edward rolled his eyes and stood. He found Isabella in the kitchen standing over Alice's shoulder as she mixed sugar cookie dough. He stood in the doorway for a moment and watched Isabella measure and stir and hum. She stuck her finger in for a taste like a little girl and giggled when Alice laughed and smacked the back of her hand with the spoon.

"Um...Isabella?" Edward asked, walking up behind her.

"Edward!" she squealed happily. "I didn't know you were here."

They met in each others arms in the middle of the kitchen and Alice, smiling, turned to watch them kiss and nuzzle hello. But Edward pulled back, flushed slightly across his nose and cheeks.

He rubbed his thumbs in circles over Isabella's collarbones.

"What's going on with you and Alex?" he breathed.

Alice dropped her spoon and it clattered to the tile floor. She barely recovered before Edward caught sight of Alex slinking by the door and settling in the living room with his nose in a book and his ears pricked.

Isabella glanced to Alice who was furiously stirring.

Edward gently took Isabella's chin and turned her head. _I asked __**you**__. Not Alice._

"Did he tell you not to tell me?" He cocked his head and looked her deep in the eye. "Tell me what he did to you, Isabella. You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"I..."

Edward took her by the wrist and led her into the side den where the piano was kept and away from the curious ears. He turned her by the shoulders to face him.

"You _know_ you can tell me anything?" Edward repeated.

Isabella nodded looking at the floor.

"Isabella?"

"Alex was helping me. Um..."

"Helping you?"

"Because I've never...you know...done certain things and I wanted to surprise you... I guess it got carried away. But it was my fault, Edward, I swear. Alex told me to stop and-"

"Wait wait." He halted Isabella's quick stream of words with his head buzzing and his mind firing in a hundred directions at once. One thought was screaming above all the others - _he's done it again he hasn't changed he's done it again_.

"Did he....Did you..."

"We were in his bed and he was helping me-" she started to explain. It made perfect sense to her. She would explain it to Edward and Edward would understand.

But he turned green instead. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"I _asked_ for his help, because...I want to be good for you." The desperation crept into her voice. Her hands shook as she watched Edward becoming more upset by the second.

"Edward please, I asked him for pointers. To be with you like we haven't before. Like _I _haven't before. It means a lot to me and I didn't want to fuck it up."

"You asked Alex to show you how to have _sex with me_?? Oh I'm sure he_ leapt_ at the chance! I can't fucking _believe this_."

Edward intentionally raised his voice, knowing that the entire house was listening by now. Activities had ceased and Alice had taken a seat across from Alex in the living room hissing, "You did what??? I _told _you, Alex Turner. Look what you've done. Again."

"P-Please," Isabella begged. "I know you're angry but I can't take you yelling at me." Her voice was shaking, pleading, trembling on every soft syllable with memories of years of anger ringing through the mansion, a prequel to black eyes and bruised ribs and throbbing cheekbones. But Edward didn't hear; he was too caught up in the betrayal that he could finally admit he'd been waiting for all along.

"Why? Why, why _him_, Isabella?? Of all the people in the fucking world?? You don't know what I've been through with him!"

"That's because you haven't _told me_!!"

Edward's hand raised and Isabella turned her head, bracing for the strike she knew would come. But it didn't and when she opened her eyes to look at him, he had the suspect hand clenched in his hair like he always does when he's frustrated.

"Did...Did you think...?" Edward stuttered with a pained look on his face.

"That's what comes next," she murmured.

Edward was speechless, looking down at the hand that was just in his hair and bending his fingers one at a time as if it were the first time he'd ever seen them. He then looked at Isabella, into her face, and watched her eyes watch his hand, waiting for it to be balled into a fist or spread out wide palm side up.

"I'll never do that to you, Isabella. No matter how angry I get,_ I'll_ never hit you."

Isabella nodded and forced an embarrassed smile. Edward stared at a shape on the wall behind her head, an expressionless look about his face, a look that Isabella had never seen before.

"Shit!!" he shouted at the ceiling suddenly. "I can't believe this is happening!" The house cringed and Alex crossed and uncrossed his legs in the recliner, flipping through the pages of an ancient magazine.

"Just when I thought I'd found someone, and fallen in love again." Edward was not talking to anyone in particular now and somehow he and Isabella had moved from the den into the hall. He was sure the girls were listening with their ears pressed against their bedroom door and that Sam and Jake were holding glasses up to the wall of their closet, but he didn't care. They should be used to this by now. Although it had usually been Alex chasing Edward from room to room and trying to jimmy open the locks of every door Edward had barred himself into, pounding on the frame until the hinges gave and begging Edward to, 'Please just listen!'

"I'm sorry I angered you. I'm sorry I let it go as far as it did. Don't be angry with Alex," Isabella pleaded.

"Ha! Fat chance of that, doll-face," came Alex's voice from the parlor.

"FUCK OFF ALEX!" Edward screamed. He could feel his sanity derailing; the bindings were coming loose.

"So what did you think, Ally?! Huh? Was she good?!" Edward yelled across the house at the top of his lungs. "Was she everything you imagined her to be? Is she a quick learner? Did she catch on to your techniques with ease? Practice makes perfect, like you always say. So how many times did you go over them?" Edward was talking to Alex but he directed his gaze and the arsenic-laced words at Isabella, who was swaying in front of him like a newly planted sapling.

"Answer me, Alex!! I know you're listening!"

"You're being a baby," Alex answered back in an even tone.

"Oh so now it's MY FAULT?!! Hahahaha!! Isn't that rich!" Edward laughed like a loon, completely detaching from the present and blurring the issue at hand with the past.

"Why can't I have something that's just mine, huh??" he shouted down the hall and into the room where Alex sat. "Why do you always have to touch it and fuck with it and leave your mark on it? Just this once, just this _one FUCKING time_, why can't she be only mine?! _Finally_ something I don't have to _share _with you!! ....Why do I have to _share everything_ I have? Just like I always had to share _you_."

Edward's voice suddenly lowered and calmed and Isabella's ears perked up at the first indication of what happened between them. He was addressing the floorboards now.

"You never even asked me. I always had to find out on my own. Just like now."

With that Edward's head lurched up with a start to look at Isabella, searching her eyes for an answer why.

_Why?_

"I guess I wasn't enough for _you_ either. Was I, Isabella?" He didn't mean for it to sound so cruel, to come off so harsh and impersonal, but he didn't have a chance to amend it because Isabella was gone, down the hall and around the corner to their room with a slam of the door and a click of the latch. The last image in Edward's eyes was Isabella's shocked look of horror at such a statement, mixed with contempt and a hurt that Edward knew she didn't deserve.

"_Fuck_," Edward cursed at himself, his hand back in his hair pulling and tearing at the spikes.

"Nice job, Eddy-boy." Alex smirked, brushing past Edward and knocking him into the door frame on his way into the kitchen.

"This is all your fault," Edward spat.

"Of-fucking-course it is. And why shouldn't it be? It's alot easier to absolve yourself of any responsibility when you've got _me_ to blame. All the times I've fucked up and fucked things up and fucked you over, why not add another incident to the list?"

Alex grabbed a spotty glass from the cupboard and filled it under the faucet.

"You fucked her-" Edward began, the vile words catching in his throat.

"Ah Ah Ah, I didn't fuck her," Alex immediately corrected. "Could I have? Perhaps. But I did not. What say you to that?"

"Whatever. You kissed her. You felt her. You were naked with her. In your bed. Am I wrong on any of these points?"

"...Umm, no, that's about right. _Partially_ naked though. There's a difference."

"How can you be so smug??? You know what I feel for her!! Why won't you let me be happy???"

"What exactly is the problem?" Alex shrugged. "She came to me for _advice_. About YOU. She doesn't understand us, Edward. She didn't come to me because she wanted to _fuck me_, you idiot!! She wants to fuck _you_. _Only_ you. Yeah, maybe I should have come running to you right away and squealed on her, but why shouldn't I show her how it's done?"

"Are you fucking _serious_?....... Because she's my _girlfriend_ and you are my _ex._"

"Ugh you are really ridiculous, you know that. The child has been with one man before you. ONE. _You_ told me that. You also told me that she's been controlled and manipulated by him for years. And now that she's free and she's found you, she wants to be all the woman you need, to know all the things you do. Christ, when did you become so dense? She wanted to know what it was like so she could go back to you and do it. She wanted to know how to get YOUR cock in her mouth, _not mine_, and how to get you off. And if you wanted to take her from behind, she wanted to know how to let you know that it was ok. She knows we used to date. Can you blame her curiosity?"

"Ah I see." Edward tapped his finger to his chin. "She asked for it so you gave it to her. Just like the time I found you with Maggie. When I walked in on you up to your balls in her and your response was, _But she was begging for it_."

Alex threw his arms up in the air in exasperation. "Alright that's enough. Is this really how it's going to be every time?? You've got this never-ending weapons stockpile at your disposal that you use against me at will, and that's fine, maybe I deserve it for eternity, but now you've turned it on Isabella and opened fire, and she doesn't fucking know why you're doing it! Happy now?"

Alex raised his glass in cheers and walked back into the living room, leaving Edward standing at the sink with his heart pounding in his chest.


	35. To the end

Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer

* * *

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin  
Dance me through the panic till I'm gathered safely in  
Touch me with your naked hand or touch me with your glove  
Dance me to the end of love

_"I guess I wasn't enough for you either. Was I, Isabella?" _

Edward sighed and sat on the edge of the rickety bed, doing his best to avoid the right side where the rusty mattress springs no longer bounced back. Isabella halted her silent cries the moment she heard him enter the room by biting down hard on her bottom lip until she tasted blood. She felt Edward's weight shift on the bed and she moved her body farther towards the wall.

"Isabella," he began. The sweet swell of his voice filled the bleak room and another silent sob escaped Isabella's throat.

She shook her head. "I did something wrong. I made you angry. I'm sorry for that." She spoke each word individually and with a short pause in between. It was the only way she could talk without breaking down. "But you shouldn't say those kind of things to me," she continued softly. "They're not true."

"You're right. I'm-"

"I didn't know you then. I didn't know you when you were with him," Isabella said without stopping. Edward dropped his head and looked into his hands in embarrassment. "And yet, every day I'm forced to remember that you were. It's not your fault, and it's not Alex's either."

She put her hand up to stop Edward from cutting her off. "It's living here. It's this place. This arrangement you've made for me – that I couldn't be more thankful for, but – it's ruining us, Edward. I never see you anymore. I'm alone all the time. Alex is here. He keeps me company. He means well-"

"He's a prick -" Edward grumbled.

"Don't do that. Don't start cutting him down to make me feel better. He is who he is and he's not going to change. He shouldn't have to."

"Yes he should," Edward argued.

"_No_. He shouldn't."

"He took advantage of you. ...And me. _Again_."

"But you'll forgive him. As you should."

"I don't understand where this is going." Edward's voice was filled with sudden concern. Panic was setting in and constricting his throat. "Isabella? What are you saying?"

"I should go back."

Edward shot up to a standing position as though a bolt of lightning had just entered the room and blasted the bed in half. "Go _back_? Go back _where_? To _him_?"

"It's easier that way," Isabella said calmly.

"Easier for whom?"

"I'll return to the studio. He won't be as angry if I do that." She was honestly considering this as an option. Edward couldn't get his hands out of his hair. They were fisted and knotted in the thick strands and he pulled on them hard.

"Isabella please," he fell to his knees and pushed himself between her legs. "Please god please don't do this. Don't leave me. I'm sorry I got angry." Tears were streaming down his cheeks. Isabella wiped them away with her fingertips.

"Don't cry, Edward. I'm not angry with you. I love you. I love you more than I've every loved anyone or anything. I'm not doing this to punish you."

"Because you're not doing this." Edward shook his head in disbelief and looked up into Isabella's face in desperation. "You're not leaving. He'll kill you."

"No he won't." Isabella shook her head. _It's the only way._

"What will he do, then? Welcome you back with open arms? Be the man of your dreams?"

"That would be impossible."

"Oh? And why is that?" Edward winced inwardly at the tone of his voice.

"Because that man already exists," she answered unfazed by Edward's tone. "And that man is you."

And Edward unraveled. He wrapped his arms around Isabella's waist and gently pushed her onto her back, climbing on top of her and settling in between her legs. Isabella giggled and Edward kissed her sweetly, leaving stains on her cheeks from his tears. "How can you be so lovely...so utterly perfect in every possible capacity after the way I've treated you this evening? The old Isabella Swan would have walked out on me without a second thought." He nuzzled into her neck and she moaned in pleasure.

"You're wrong," she murmured breathlessly against Edward's warm, full lips . "She may have walked out on you, but you were never, _ever_ out of her thoughts."

"I love you, Isabella. With my whole soul. I'm so sorry for the way I acted tonight."

"I'm sorry, too. Please don't be angry with Alex. I'm new to real love and I didn't respect it's boundaries."

Edward licked and hummed his way down Isabella's chin and throat, over her throbbing pulse point, grinding his heavy erection into her delicate thigh. Isabella writhed and squirmed, grabbing Edward by the shoulders and raking her nails down his back.

"I need you," Edward whispered, allowing Isabella to assist him in removing his trousers and shirt. They were soon naked together, Edward's bare chest damp with perspiration hovering over Isabella's dainty, trembling body.

"Make love to me, Edward." She spread her legs wide and bent them around the small of his back, clasping her feet at her ankles she pulled Edward inside her moist opening in one fluid motion. They both gasped and kept their eyes open so they could see the expression of unshakable love as Edward thrusted inside her and Isabella welcomed all he had to offer. Edward cried out as he rocked towards orgasm. He was close. It never took long with Isabella and her cries and whimpers sent the surge of fire up from his toes. He swallowed hard and pressed his forehead to hers, asking with his eyes if she was ready. If not, he would find the strength to wait. But she nodded and bit her lip. She opened her mouth but words did not escape. He kissed her roughly and exploded inside her with a grunt. Isabella followed shortly after as Edward pumped lazily for a few more strokes.

"How could you think I would ever need anything more than that?" Edward panted. "You're so incredibly beautiful, my love. And you bring me so much pleasure. More than you could imagine." Edward spent the next few moments catching his breath while Isabella traced her initials across his chest. After he had fallen asleep, still naked and in the same position he was when he rolled off her, Isabella rose and collected her discarded clothing from the floor. She quickly dressed and checked again to see that Edward was still asleep. She wiped the tears from her eyes and held back the sound of her crying as she silently opened the bedroom door and exited into the night.

* * *

**It's not the end, even though that's the title of the chapter.**


	36. Surrender

Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer

* * *

**"Love is a lot like dancing; you just surrender to the music." -Pierce Brosnan**

Isabella tripped down the porch steps gathering her skirts in her hand. She braced her fall with her free palm outstretched. Without a sound she found her feet again and took the remainder of the descent at a slower pace. It was dark but the moon was heavy and full and it bathed the front lawn in white light. The stabbing pangs in her chest from the effort it took to control her sobs had her doubled-over each time she tried to stand upright. It was no use. She was going to fall apart, but she had to keep moving.

"Coward."

The voice came from above and stopped Isabella in her tracks. _Divine intervention at a moment like this? _She looked up at the starry sky and saw Alex sitting in the eaves under the second story window smoking a cigarette.

"Did you not hear me, love? I called you a _coward_. One who lacks courage. A timid or easily intimidated person. Which surprises me because Edward has always spoken so highly of you; 'Fair Isabella so brave and strong'. Yet, to see you scurrying away like a field mouse in the night…tut tut. For shame."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Is that a fact? Well, I know what I'm _looking at_. What more is there?" Alex took a deep drag from his hand-rolled ciggie and exhaled the smoke through his nostrils. "Running away into the night barefoot and crying?" He rolled his eyes. "Save that drama for the stage and get back inside to Edward."

"It has to be this way." The explanation fell out of her mouth before she could stop it. "I was a fool to think this would work. They will _find him_. And when they do," she choked. "They will kill him. One of two ways. Quickly and with no warning, or slowly, messily, and for all to see. He's biding his time, Alex. Demetri is wealthy beyond comprehension. He has enough men to scour this city and when the moment strikes him, he will turn them loose. They will find this house. They will find Edward's family. And they will kill them to get to me."

Isabella hitched her skirts and continued down the grass to the graveled drive.

"They'll kill him anyway, Isabella!" Alex called out after her. The words stung like a poisoned arrow between her shoulder blades and she tensed.

"…Wh-what do you mean?" she breathlessly asked the wind.

In a series of agile movements, Alex straightened, slid to the edge of the ledge and down the gutter railing with ease. He trotted towards Isabella with the laces of his boots untied. She stood unmoved with her back to him, her head tilted to the sky with tears rolling down her cheeks in delicate rivulets of anguish. Alex took her by the shoulder and turned her around to face him.

"They. Will. Kill. Him. _Anyway_," Alex repeated. Isabella's chin trembled and she wobbled on shaky legs. Alex stubbed his cigarette butt out on the bottom of his boot and rifled through his shirt pocket for another. He sighed, putting the fresh cigarette to his lips and flicking a match against the side of the house. "Do you understand what it feels like to be a rich man scorned, Isabella?' he asked with his head cocked to the side. "I didn't think so. Do you think after Demetri has you back, that he will forget all about Edward? Do you know what jealousy does to a proud man's insides? Every time he looks at you, what will he see? Even after he bloodies your face beyond recognition, which he _will _do, he will still see Edward in your eyes. It will plague him. It will drive him mad and the only thing that will pacify the beast within...will be to see Edward suffer. And under his thumb you will be powerless to stop him. But you're _not_ powerless _here_."

Isabella could do nothing but whimper and nod in understanding. The artist house rose behind Alex like the only standing beacon of hope left in the cruel world and Edward's caring heart beat within its walls.

"Come on, _bella_. Let's go back inside." Alex reached out for her hand which still clung to the hem of her bunched up skirts. "Come." He took the two steps that separated them and pried her hand loose from the fabric. "It's going to be ok."

"Oh god," she whimpered weakly. "Oh Alex, I'm so scared," she crumbled to pieces in his arms, finally giving in to the pressure and letting go of the pent up fear that she hid from Edward. "I don't want him to know. I don't want him to worry about me. I love him so much it hurts. Please don't tell him. Don't tell him this happened. Don't tell him I left."

"I won't tell him anything, darling," Alex said in a voice as smooth as silver. He put his arm around Isabella's shoulder and led her to the front door. "I won't have to. You're going back inside. You're going to climb into bed next to Edward and you're going to wake up in the same spot next to him in the morning." He smiled at her and held the door open with his foot. "In you go."

"And you? Where are you going?"

"Out."

"To do what?"

Alex shrugged and adjusted the crotch of his trousers. "Depends. Yelena or Anna. Oooh maybe Alexei if he's around. Maybe Nadia," he pondered. "They're not Edward, of course," he winked sadly. "But they'll suffice. They always do. They have to. Moscow nights are unforgiving when you're alone."

Entering their bedroom, the thick scent of semen and fluid and sex, of woodsy air and warm breath, coated Isabella's skin like a second layer. It felt natural and automatic to be in a room that contained Edward Cullen. She inhaled the tangy aroma and joined her lover in bed.

"What did he want?" Edward mumbled still half asleep.

"He wanted me to tell you that he loves you," Isabella grinned into Edward's neck, placing small kisses on his tender skin.

Edward _hurrrumphed_ and rolled on top of Isabella, caging her under his sleepy body. He laid his weight on top of her and she nuzzled into his chest.

"It's true," she giggled.

"You're a terrible liar, my love. Your eyes betray you. They storm and roll because they don't like doing it. Thank you for the compliment, though. However, I'd prefer it if the sentiment came from _you_."

"My love for you is a given. I just wanted you to remember that you are loved by many, not just by me."

Edward sighed and smiled. He gave Isabella a gentle peck on the lips and they snuggled together under the threadbare covers. The mood soon overtook them once again; the closeness, the sensation of skin on skin, desire that was just as raw and new as their first time together. They swore everlasting devotion and made love until the sun came up.

* * *

**Short chapter I know. Just wanted to clear that up. Things will be taking a turn shortly. Thank you for your patience. **


	37. Premonition

Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer

* * *

**Premonition: anticipation of an event without conscious reason**

Edward let her leave. He didn't want to fight anymore. Not with her. He'd fight with anyone – Alex, Jasper, Jacob, anyone – but not her. It was late and not safe for her to be walking out alone. He couldn't hold her back, he knew that to be true, so instead he followed behind her all the way to the penthouse, his stomach in knots at the realization that she was going back to him. He kept a safe distance so she'd never know he was there yet close enough to trail behind to make sure she was safe. He watched her back tremble and her hand brush at her face, most likely to wipe away tears, and at one point she stopped and vomited in the bushes. Once they'd reached the building together yet separately, Edward watched her walk inside and when she'd been swallowed alive, he laid against the cold stone wall and cried until he heard a car pull up. It was only when Edward saw Demetri step out and disappear into the building that he found the courage to walk away.

When Demetri entered the bedroom, to his surprise he found find Isabella in front of her dressing table like she'd never left, peeling off her clothes in slow motion.

"Where've you been?" he asked calmly, looking in from the doorway. She undid her boot laces, flinging them off the tips of her toes, without answering. Her mind was a swirling cavity. Perhaps she didn't even realize she was back.

"I _ASKED _you a question!" he bellowed. "Do you have any idea how much _money_ you have_ lost _me? I _DEMAND _an answer!"

"Not now. Please...not now..."

"Whose clothes are those?" he insisted, circling her like a panther.

It was obvious they were not her own. They were street clothes, worn and illfitting and Isabella would the live rest of her life in them if she could.

"You were with _him_, weren't you." He took her by the arm and roughly turning her around.

"Let me go," she said without feeling.

"_Weren't_ you?" Demetri growled, increasing his grip and twisting Isabella's wrist inside his large powerful fist. He could break her in two without batting an eye.

"You're hurting me. Stoppit, Demetri. That hurts, stop..."

"Then tell me where you were."

"I won't..."

Without warning, Demetri released his grip on her wirst and back handed her across the face, sending her crashing against the wall and knocking the lamp off the dresser. He smirked as she laid out limply at his feet and they turned and walked out the door.

The next day, Isabella did not return to the studio. She couldn't bear to have Edward see her battered face. Edward showed up on time, however, and waited the entire length of the session for her to arrive, and when she didn't, he walked the route home that took him past Demetri's apartment.

He snuck in with ease; he'd had enough practice being in places where he didn't belong, and was just about to enter the bedroom without knocking when he was caught on the stairs...by Demetri. They faced off without a word and Edward could see past him into the bedroom, where Isabella was propped up in the king-sized bed, bandaged and black and blue, her cheekbone and eye puffy.

"How'd you get in here?" Demetri growled.

"You _bastard!_ What did you do to her! I'll fucking kill you!" Edward screamed.

"Ha! you'll do no such thing. She came back to me that way, you vile dog. Maybe YOU did it to her."

"Never! I would never hurt her! EVER!" Edward charged him and Demetri motioned for guards that appeared out of the shadowd.

"Get rid of him," he ordered. "Anywhere."

Edward was tackled and sent to the ground, his arms tied painfully behind his back, a punch to the gut and one to the face rendering him useless to break free.

Isabella jumped from bed at the commotion and sound of Edward's voice; a voice she'd dreamt of hearing again. She stumbled out of the room into the hallway and threw herself in front of Edward's body.

"Foolish girl," Demetri spat. "Get back to bed."

"Let him go. He's done nothing to you. It was my decision to leave you and I've already suffered my punishment. Let him go."

Demetri flicked his eyes from Isabella to Edward, working his fists into balls again and again. Isabella started to worry as seconds passed with no response. Would Demetri order Edward killed and thrown in the river? She knew she would never survive that. She also knew she would never be strong enough to stop it.

Out of panic she blurted out something she could never take back.

"If you let him go now...I'll never see him again. I swear. We'll get a new pianist...anything you want. We can leave the country, I don't care. Just please...don't hurt him," she begged. "Please let him go."

Demetri contemplated this new development for several long moments, his fingers twisting his menacing moustache.

"You'll give me your word that you will never see him again."

"If you give me yours that you won't hurt him."

Demetri put an end to the tense stand off with a curt nod. Edward squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall to Isabella's back where no one could see. He inhaled her scent just as Demetri mumbled, "Get him out of here. I expect him out of our lives in two minutes."

The guards released him and Demetri returned to the master bedroom without another word, leaving Isabella and Edward briefly alone in the hallway. Edward stepped towards her, staring at her cut lip and bruised cheekbone, the marks on her wrists and gash at her temple and he could see her shaking in front of him.

And the words came tumbling out. He didn't care that it sounded illogical. He just wanted to take her somewhere safe. Anywhere. His voice was a shaking desperate plea of a whisper.

"Come with me. Come back with me. Please you have to leave now. I'll take you anywhere you want to go just _please_ come with me."

"You have to go," she answered dismissively, avoiding his stare. "If he comes back and finds you still here-."

"Did he do that to you?"

Edward reached a hand out to touch Isabella's face as if he could heal her with his fingertips but Isabella lurched away from his touch. It stung more than a boot to his gut, because it was something she had never ever done.

"Edward please. He'll-"

"I can't leave you here. I _can't_." He shook his head fiercely, but Isabella stepped back inside the bedroom and began closing the door. Her face was stained with tears.

"You don't love me...pretend you don't love me. Say it to yourself until you believe it."

With that the door clicked shut and Edward was once again set upon by Demetri's guards and repeatedly kicked in the stomach before being thrown out into the street. He laid there for a few moments, writhing in pain, holding his sides and rocking on the cold, hard concrete. As he stared up into the sky with tears steaming down his face, he saw a light coming from the top floor. The darkness cleared and he could make out Isabella's shadow looking down on him from the open window above. Edward managed to pull himself to his feet, still hunched over and holding his stomach and bruised ribs, coughing up blood and wiping it from the sides of his mouth. The thugs were watching from inside the lobby and he knew if he stood there much longer they'd be out again and this time the damage could be permanent. Edward began to slink away like a cat licking his wounds, but he couldn't take his eyes off the window above. This couldn't be it. This couldn't be the way it ended. It couldn't be the last time he ever saw her.

Taking a deep breath, which was more painful than he thought, and called out his answer to the sky and to his heaven.

"How can you ask me to do that? Would I have come if I didn't love you! Goddamit, Isabella! _Would I_? Would I have taken these blows if you weren't _everything to me_!"

The thugs pushed the door open and Edward took off running down the sidewalk toward his side of town.

* * *

"Edward, darling, wake up. Wake up, my love."

The darkness lifted and the angelic voice was growing louder and clearer, whispering its sweet melody in his ear.

"Open your beautiful eyes," it said.

He did and she appeared inside the cloudy haze of sleep and dreams. His Isabella. His everything.

"You," he whispered breathlessly as though he'd just been run out of town on a rail. "It's you."

"Of course it's me, silly. Who else would it be?" she smiled sweetly, brushing the sweaty pieces of hair from his damp forehead. "You were tossing and turning and moaning in your sleep just now. ...Something about me being _everything_ to you?" Isabella blushed and tongued her bottom lip wantonly.

"Was I now?" Edward grinned sleepily. "Well," he stretched his long torso out under her delicate touch. "That sounds about right."

"What was your dream about?" she asked, laying her head on his chest and tracing her name on his skin.

"I don't remember," he lied, pulling her up his body and into a passion-filled kiss, a desperate attempt to distract her from the truth...the truth that he remembered it all too well.

* * *

**yeah i know...a dream sequence? _really_? ugh. ;p**


	38. Don't say I never warned you

Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer

* * *

**Well, I ride on a mailtrain, baby,**  
**Can't buy a thrill.**  
**Well, I've been up all night, baby,**  
**Leanin' on the window sill.**  
**Well, if I die**  
**On top of the hill**  
**And if I don't make it,**  
**You know my baby will.**

**ooOoo**

With Emmett at her side, Rosalie had her baby on a Wednesday. Emmett cried with joy when they placed his daughter in his arms and he kissed Rosalie's head and thanked her for making him the happiest man on Earth. They called her Leah, after Rosalie's favorite aunt, and set her up at the foot of their bed in a bassinet donated by one of Emmett's co-workers at the mill. Edward visited as soon as he could, taking two days off from his job giving private piano lessons to bored housewives on the clean side of town to spend quality time with the new addition to the Cullen clan.

The black sedan had returned and was parked day and night across the street from Emmett and Rosalie's home. Edward tried to ignore it and tried even harder to keep on a consistent schedule that involved seeing Isabella less and less.

When he did manage to find a moment to sneak away to see his precious love, she had weeks worth of questions built up that now included an endless supply of ones about the baby. What does she look like? What does she smell like? What color are her eyes? How does Emmett act around her? That last one was Edward's favorite.

"Emmett is a big bowl of apple sauce whenever he looks into her face," Edward chuckled.

"Oh how I wish I could see her, and to see Rosalie," Isabella sighed longingly. "Please give them my love."

"I have, my darling. I do every day." He took her in his arms and sat her on his lap. She rested her head on his shoulder and he drew circles on her spine with the pad of his thumb.

"I fear I'll never see them again," she murmured into his neck. "Or by the time I do, Leah won't be a baby anymore."

"Don't worry yourself with things like that. We're taking one day at a time," he breathed into her hair, inhaling her baked apple scent as he spoke. "That's all we can do; enjoy the moments that we have and look forward to the future."

He rose from the chair, tall and lean, and set her on her feet.

"I love you, Edward."

She lifted her head and looked into his piercing jade eyes when she said it. He was wearing all gray today. A charmingly shabby suit jacket and matching trousers. The top buttons of his thin dress shirt were undone and Isabella bit her bottom lip in desire at what lay underneath the rest. He was a god to her, an angel, if it was possible to be both things at once. He was without a doubt the most desirable being she'd even laid eyes on and now that she finally had him, nothing brought her more pleasure than being with him, near him, anywhere in his general vicinity.

"You're everything to me." he kissed her sweetly and then said the words he'd been dreading for hours. "I have to go. The sun is rising."

"Please Edward, wait." She held out her hand and he came walking back to her. He could never leave unless she let him go.

He slipped his hand into hers and the passion she felt for him boiled in her stomach.

"Make love to me. I never know when you'll be coming back and..." she blushed. "It keeps me going until you do. ...It can be quick, I don't mind."

And it was quick, because it had to be, but it was also deep and sensual, erotic and innocent, because it could be nothing else. Edward lasted as long as he could, he didn't want it to be over, and came with a whimper of disappointment at orgasms arrival. Isabella came with a cry filled with pleasure and pain; physical pain because she buried Edward's length inside her as far as he could go until she thought he'd tear right through her, and emotional because neither of them knew from this moment forward how long they'd be sleeping alone.

**ooOoo**

"Where the fuck were you?" Alex barked before Isabella had fully walked through the front door.

"Alex, easy, easy," Tanya pulled him back by the arm but she couldn't stop him from rushing Isabella, who looked drawn and tired.

"_Fuck _taking it easy!" He lurched out of Tanya's hold and lunged. "I _asked_ you a question, Miss Swan! Where the _fuck_ have you been?"

"Out," she replied, taking her coat off and hanging it on the hook.

"_OUT?_" Alex raged, stunned by her nonchalant attitude. "You're lucky you're a woman because if you were a man you'd be prying my _fist_ from around your _neck_!" He was boiling and the house was noticing. Sounds of activity and approaching footsteps squeaked the floorboards but Alex was unchanged and continued to snarl in Isabella's face, which was quickly growing frightened.

"Out _where_? Not out on the front porch, huh?" he taunted. "No, because I checked there. Not out in the yard either. Or out in the garden, or down the street, or at the fucking _pub_ which is where I've just come from after looking for you all _fucking_ day so you will be smart to answer my question as I ask you _ONE FINAL TIME_. ..._WHERE _on this _PLANET_ have you _FUCKING BEEN_!"

The air had been sucked out and they stood in a vacuum until Isabella finally found the courage to reply. "I – I went to visit Rosalie," she answered, dropping her head to look at her shoes as she spoke. "To see the baby."

"The baby?" Alex's hands shot into his hair. "The fucking _baby_? Have you gone stark raving _mad_? They'll _be_ there now! His fucking thugs! They'll find Edward now! They'll find us all! We're dead, you know that, don't you? _Dead_."

Jasper appeared out of thin air and stepped calmly in between them. Jacob and Sam stepped to either side of him as well and formed a barrier. Jasper's presence seemed to ease the electricity in the air and calm Alex down just enough so Jacob and Sam wouldn't have to intervene.

"Did you hear that, Jasper? Did you hear where she's been?" Alex turned to Isabella again with black lava in his eyes. "Everything we've done to protect you, to keep you safe, it was all a lie. Wasn't it? To get close to us, close to Edward, so you could take us down."

"_No!_" she cried out in pain, her arms wrapped around her waist, tears falling from her eyes. "I love you all! I love Edward more than I've known it possible to love another. I would never, _ever_ do anything to hurt him or any of you. I swear on it with my life."

"Alright, Alex, that's enough," Jasper said sternly. "You've made your point." He nudged Alex back and addressed Isabella rationally.

"This is a very delicate situation we're in, Isabella. Edward has been taking extreme care to protect your safety and to keep the whereabouts of this house unknown. In order to do that he's been leading a double life. He spends time here, but he does so at great risk to himself and to all of us that call this modest arrangement home. He could be followed at any time. There are men watching Rosalie and Emmett's house at all hours. Edward has been making a point to ensure that they see him leaving their house in the morning and returning in the evening from work. Any deviation he takes from that course is planned and coordinated down to the very second. My fear – and I think I speak for us all – is that you may have comprised those efforts, no matter how unknowingly."

"But I was careful," she insisted. "No main roads. I used the back way, through the woods and alleys. No one saw me, I swear."

"Edward knows routes and hidden paths that you don't; that none of us do. He's been traveling them for years."

"There wasn't a car outside. I waited in the trees for an hour and only went to the door when I was absolutely sure no one was there."

"That's good. Let's focus on that and remain positive." Jasper spoke in Alex's direction but Alex merely smirked and rolled his eyes.

**ooOoo**

Hours later, it was nearly after midnight, there was a knock on the front door and everyone in the house immediately knew that something was desperately wrong. No one ever knocked. There were no deliveries. No one received mail unless they went to the post box to pick it up. Each member of the house, even Isabella, had a key, and more often than not the door was left unlocked. There was nothing inside that anyone in their right mind would desire to steal.

Alice moved towards the door but Jake raced in front of her and held out his arm to stop her. She looked at him in alarm; he looked at her in warning. She stepped back and Jacob turned the knob. Sounds could be heard coming from the other side of the door. Isabella stood next to Alice, who stood beside Tanya who stood next to Jasper who walked in with Sam. Alex was missing from the curious crowd.

The door swung open and the sounds that were muffled and timid before it opened were now loud and piercing.

It was Rosalie. She was wailing and holding a bundle in her shaking arms. She was forming sentences as she shrieked but no one could understand what she was saying. The words were garbled and mashed together.

"Jasper, get a doctor!" Tanya ordered. "The baby's sick." Tanya tried to take the swaddled babe out of Rosalie's arms but she held on fast to her newborn.

"NO!" she shrieked hysterical.

"Rosalie, sweetie, you need to let me see. I might be able to help. I had a child once. I know what happens when-" Tanya broke off her sentence and looked at Alice who nodded and headed towards the bathroom.

"Fever," Tanya warned. "Jasper, get everyone to their rooms."

"There's nothing wrong with my baby." Rosalie moaned. "Emmett's at the mill. There's no way to reach him. I couldn't leave her alone." She began rocking back and forth in the rickety kitchen chair she now sat in. Surprisingly enough, the little bundle was undisturbed, sleeping right through the excitement.

"Why would you have to leave her alone. Rosalie? Here, take a deep breath. It's ok, let me hold the baby so you can have some water and explain what's happened."

Rosalie consented and released her child into Tanya's arms.

"He's gone," she whimpered into her hands. "They've taken him. I couldn't stop them. I could only watch helplessly from the window as they loaded him into the back of the car. They threatened to kill him right in front of me if I so much as made a sound."

Her hysterical sobs returned and for several moments there were no other sounds to be heard save the ones of unbridled agony that ripped from Rosalie's lungs.

"It's happened, hasn't it?" came Alex's voice from the hall; calm and vacant. His eyes were black and storming.

"They have him, don't they?"

He entered the kitchen without a greeting and sat in the chair next to Rosalie. He took up her hand in his and her sobs quieted.

"Hello," he said kindly. "I'm Alexander."

Rosalie was still panting and hiccuping her breaths. Alex waited patiently for her to regain her composure before she spoke.

"I remember you," she said. "I've seen you a few times, waiting for Edward on the corner. One time you dropped him off. You kissed him goodbye and you watched him walk into the house before you left. I always thought that was very sweet."

Alex smiled. He looked as though he might cry.

"But then you hurt him. He came back to live with us but he wouldn't talk. He'd just..._sit_...in front of the fire for hours and not move. We knew he was thinking of you as he looked into the flames."

Alex fidgeted uncomfortably. The words stung and stung even more now that they were being spoken out loud, in front of the household.

"I was wrong. I made a terrible mistake. I'm eternally sorry for what I did to him."

"I know. And he knows too. ...Then she came along, and Edward was happy again. The happiest we've ever seen him. Emmett had his brother back. And now Leah's come. ...We were going to be a real family this time. Edward said he wanted to marry her." She broke down again and this time Alex let her rest her head on his shoulder.

Throughout this display Isabella had sank to the floor and began to shake uncontrollably, silently convulsing in a state of sheer panic. As Alex got Rosalie under control, Isabella was coming undone.

The rest of the house stood frozen in a limbo of uncertainty. How should they react to this devastating news? Should they run out unarmed and unprepared into the night? Should they sit down and calmly develop a strategy?

"How many men were there?" Jasper asked. Rosalie's face contorted at the question but she took a breath and answered.

"I was making dinner. It was around the time when Edward comes home. Emmett was working late so I knew not to expect him, but Edward loves my potato soup. I would give him Emmett's share. ...They must have known when he'd be coming home. They must have been waiting for him. ...I heard a scuffle outside and I opened the curtain. There were two men and they had Edward pinned against the hood of that damn black sedan! They had his arms behind his back and they were pushing on him but Edward wasn't yelling. I couldn't hear him. ...They must have known I was watching because when the men turned around they had smiles on their faces. Those _bastards._"

Her hands were trembling and Alex took them both in his. "Go on."

"Then another man got out of the car. Taller. Well-dressed. And he started walking towards the house. I took a step back and quickly locked the front door. He stood on the porch and looked in the window at me. The baby started crying but I couldn't leave the window. They had Edward. They were going to take him with them and there was nothing I could do."

"What did he say to you? Did he say anything?" Alex looked at Jasper and they nodded with their eyes. _Demetri._

Rosalie nodded. She swallowed thickly. "He said..._Now I have something of yours._ _I get back what is mine, perhaps you can have back what is yours._"

"They must have seen Isabella enter the house," Jasper said flatly.

"Then why didn't they take me!" Isabella shrieked from her slumped position on the floor. "Why'd they take _Edward_?"

"Someone calm her down," Alex spat. "Alice," he ordered. Alice sat next to Isabella and hushed her.

"They went back for Demetri," Jasper deduced. "Maybe they thought Emmett was home. It doesn't matter now. What's done is done."

"Is that right, Jasper?" Alex asked with a tilt of his head and a raise of his brow. "Is that all there is?"

"What would you have us do? Send our boys into the night searching for a black sedan? Leave the house unprotected? Leave the women and the child behind? Or better yet – show up in hoods and masks outside Romanoff's building and demand Edward's release?" Jasper's stare was intense and Alex wilted under it's stress.

"They'd kill him for sport in front of our eyes," Jasper hissed and the room cringed at the sound. "...Do you think they wouldn't?"

Jasper waited for Alex's answer. It didn't come.

"That's what I thought." Jasper moved towards Tanya and said something to her in that way of his; without words. Tanya nodded.

"Come on, love. Let's set you up in my room and you'll have a lie down." Tanya put one arm around Rosalie while she held Leah in the other and led the way. "You ran all the way here with your newborn baby in your arms? Emmett's going to be worried sick when he finds you're not at home. We'll send Sam to wait for him..." Tanya continued her soothing pep talk until she was out of earshot.

"I'm going to find him," Isabella announced, rising from her seated position and adjusting her skirts.

"Oh please," Alex scoffed. "What can _you_ do? Besides lead them straight to us?"

"It's too dangerous," Jake warned.

"They're going to kill him," she whimpered. "Oh god, he could already be dead. "

"He's not," Jasper said.

"How can you be sure?"

"It's too soon. ...And because...you're still alive."

"He's right," Alex said, putting his arm around Alice who was shaking like a fawn. "Jazzy's right on target this time. They've taken him, just like I said they would. But they're not going to kill him. Not until they get you back."

"_Then_ they'll kill him?" Isabella asked, horrified.

Alex was quiet for a moment, and still. He held Alice close and you could tell by the way she melted against him that it was the way she always wanted to be held and by the man she always wanted to hold her.

He kissed the top of her head and shrugged. The decision had been made.

"Not until they kill me first."

Everyone who was left in the room sucked in their breath. Alice let out a kitten-like cry and buried her head in Alex's chest.

"_No_," Isabella lunged towards him but he didn't flinch back. He had that look in his eye, one similar to the look he gave Isabella the night he dared her to enter his bedroom.

"I'll strike a deal with them. After all, this is my fault."

"That's true," Alex nodded and got a slap to the back of the head from Alice.

"No, he's right, Alice. He's being unkind to me, but he's right. None of this would be happening if I'd never entered your lives. Edward would be safe-"

"He'd also be lacking the one thing in his life that he was missing; a space you filled," Jasper reminded her.

Alex groaned loudly. "Enough. You all can sit around here consoling each other while those pieces of shit are doing god knows what to Edward, but I won't."

"Where are you going?" Isabella asked anxiously.

"_Out_," Alex snarled the one-word answer back at her.

"Don't be stupid. You'll get yourself killed," Jake snapped.

"He's right," Jasper said. "Whatever you're thinking, let's talk about it first."

Without a thought Alex let go of Alice and strode towards the door, coat in hand.

"Where are you going?" Jasper asked.

"You'll try and stop me. Sorry, man, I can't have that."

"_We're_ not the enemy, Alexander. We've already lost Edward to the night. …Please. Tell us where you're going. We won't hold you back."

Alex paused and mulled it over.

"I'm going to find Edward. I have no further details."

"And then what?"

"And then...well," he sighed. "I guess that all depends on how I find him."

* * *

**the lyrics at the top are from the song, _It Takes Alot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry_, by Bob Dylan**


	39. Christmas Outtake

Christmas Outtake.

* * *

_"To touch, to move, to inspire. This is the true gift of dance." -Aubrey Lynch_

**December 24th.**

The bite of the frigid winter air was even sharper in the mornings. The sun had fully risen but it would do little to add warmth to the bleak day, as it's yellow rays had been stuck behind an endless wall of muddy gray sky for weeks. Edward could see the white clouds of his breath puff out his nostrils as he shivered violently in the hallway. Having somehow managed to tie the worn laces of his scuffed boots with frozen fingers, he pulled on his threadbare gloves and wrapped the wool scarf Alice knitted him two years ago around his neck three times until it covered his trembling lips. He turned the collar up on the hand-me-down coat Tanya had found on her way home from work one night - discarded next to the trash receptacles on the respectable side of town. _I washed it. It fits you perfectly, handsome,_ she said to him in her motherly tone. _Just like I knew it would._ There was an itchy cap balled up in one of the pockets as well. Double score.

Edward took a deep breath as he prepared to open the front door. It would be the last breath he took that didn't bring a rush of painfully ice cold air into his already tender lungs. He'd caught a cold somewhere and it was slowly reeking havoc on his constitution. Alex offered to share the body heat and company of his bed – an innocent enough gesture if it hadn't come from the most notorious of plotting bastards. Alex was an unnaturally warm human being. His average body temperature rivaled that of the kitchen oven – when it was working – and it was a constant household debate whether or not his lack of proper winter attire was a result of his persistent fever and subsequent chronic bouts with pneumonia, or vice versa. Edward knew that Alex's offer was out of worry for his health more than it was an opportunity to be close to him in a confined space with minimal clothing. Over the course of their tumultuous relationship, the number of times Edward had kept night long vigils at Alex's bedside through Alex's various and often violent stages of respiratory arrest – the count had been lost after the number of fingers had run out. The faintest cough or slightest sneeze out of Edward sent Alex into redemption-mode. Atonement for guilt. And as much as Edward could have used the comfort of a warm bed fueled by his own personal furnace and servant that would see to all of his tea-making needs, he wouldn't risk endangering Alex's already unsteady grasp on good health.

It had snowed during the night. Not much but enough to make each step of the walk to the studio an obstacle course attempt at avoiding slush and snow from seeping into the holes in his soles. He hummed the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy to take his mind off the abysmal weather. Isabella was appearing in the Christmas Eve performance of The Nutcracker and this morning's rehearsal was the final preparation before she was whisked off to the theater for hours of non-dance-related preparation. He assumed that meant costume details and make-up trials. And lectures. Always lectures and always from Demetri and always disguised as praise. It made Edward's blood boil to hear them spoken low and directly into Isabella's ear yet loudly enough for everyone around to witness his authority. No compliment without an expectation attached. No comforting touch without a painful grip at the end.

If he were ever lucky enough to be allowed to speak to isabella, much less give her a compliment, Edward knew exactly what he would do. He'd rise from the piano and merely extend his hand to hers, and if she were to accept it and place her own inside, he would bring it gently to his lips where it would linger for no longer than a second in a gesture of supreme gratitude for her unyielding work ethic and flawless performances night after night.

The door to the building was open but there was no one at the front desk when he arrived. It was barely half past seven in the morning. Edward stamped the snow from his boots and unraveled his scarf.

Voices came from the back office. Edward made a straight line for the studio and the comfort of the piano without being heard. The radiator banged to life as soon as he entered as if to say 'I'm working on it'. The sheet music was where he left it the night before. Propped and opened to the page where Nicolai said they'd be picking up from this morning. Edward ran his fingers over the keys without pressing down. He was reluctant to make his presence known. The voices grew louder and more animated as they approached. Nicolai entered with Demetri on his heels in mid-lecture about the importance of that night's performance going off without a hitch.

"Nothing can go wrong, Nicolai. Am I being in any way unclear about that? Nothing!" he barked. "Not a step, not a note, not a stitch of fabric out of line."

"You'll have to speak with the seamstresses about the stitching," Nicolai retorted with irritation.

"You keep making your jokes," Demetri sneered, raising his leather-gloved hand. "But you know what happens when ticket sales don't meet expectations-" He stopped mid-sentence, his coal-black eyes landing on Edward, who stiffened under their stare. Demetri pointed at him rudely.

"_He_ is not to accompany her." It was not up for discussion and Nicolai shrugged in indifference. Demetri made his exit and moments later there were the muted sounds of a scuffle in the hall. Demetri's gruff voice mangled and gnarled a melodious one, beating it verbally into submission until Isabella made her entrance without a word or look in either of their directions. It was nothing new to be ignored by her. She was dressed for practice; hair in a bun with a few strands that she'd missed curling down her back, no make-up, no expression. She took her position without direction. Edward followed her lead and began at the top of the page. Nicolai took his cue and walked circles around her as she danced.

...

"That's enough," Nicolai barked. Edward took his hands off the keys and the room fell silent. Isabella walked to the benches without a word and began unlacing her slippers. She'd gone over the routine three times without stopping in order for Nicolai to be absolutely sure that she had it memorized to the very blink of an eyelid. Finally he appeared satisfied.

"Good luck tonight, Isabella," he said as he passed her on his way out the door. "Not that you'll need it. Naturally I'll be in the audience, and on the auction block if you make an error. See you tonight. ...Oh and Merry Christmas, Cullen."

Edward looked up, startled by the sound of his name. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said Merry Christmas. _Christmas?_ The _holiday_? You do know it?"

"Oh. Right. Yes. Same to you, sir," Edward stammered, not used to the sound of his voice bouncing off the studio walls. He thought he caught Isabella eyeing him in the mirror but when he looked again she was standing with her back to him, a thin line of perspiration following the perfect contours of her spine.

"Is he not my accompanist tonight?" he heard Isabella ask with seeds of panic in her voice. She moved to argue when Nicolai said no, but thought better of it and continued packing up her bag. There were alone in the studio now, she and Edward; a fact that she was acutely aware of. Fourteen steps away, to be brutally exact. Each step closer caused his breathing to increase. Hers as well, though she was better at hiding it.

"Since you will not be attending the performance tonight," she said swiftly, her coat now on, she fastened the buttons. Before putting on her gloves, she reached into her bag and produced a box about the size of a book and wrapped in shiny green paper. Edward left the safety of the piano and walked the fourteen steps to her side. She took two steps back, holding her breath but unable to take her eyes off him. She could smell the musty tingle of his scent in the air. It made her heady and she wanted to laugh. Instead she held the box out to him.

"Here. Take it."

Edward hesitated, wanting to prolong the moment for as long as possible, then removed the shiny package from her hands, being careful not to brush his fingers over hers. As soon as the gift left her grasp, Isabella let out a sound somewhere between a frustrated squeal and a frightened gasp. She snatched up her coat and bag and darted out the door, leaving Edward standing alone in the quickly cooling studio.

He walked the entire journey home with the unopened box tucked inside his coat. He could feel it pressed against him when he folded his arms across his chest. He hoped there was nothing fragile inside that might be damaged by the relentless pounding of his heart.

Sitting at the kitchen table with a once steaming hot, now lukewarm cup of tea, Edward stared at the package wrapped with mirrors. It was true. He could see his reflection in the paper and the kitchen light threw bright green fragments against the walls.

"Whadya get, E?" Jacob asked, peering over his shoulder.

"Ohhhh look, Edward got a present. What's inside?" Tanya cooed, walking to the stove and reheating the water in the kettle.

"Is it from your brother? No wait I bet it's from your _girlfriend_. _Edward got a present from his girlfriend_," Jake teased just as Alex sauntered into the kitchen barefoot in nothing but a thin holey shirt two sizes too small and a battered pair of grey slacks that he'd slept in.

"Alex!" Tanya scolded. "You'll catch your stubborn death walking around this drafty old house like that." Alex ignored her and circled Edward like a jungle cat.

"That's a remarkable looking package, Eddie," Alex said in a smooth, satiny voice. "Why don't you share with us what's inside. Or will be go blind?"

"Fuck off, Al," Edward huffed. "Fine." He carefully tore at the paper until the brown box it covered was revealed. He lifted the top and pulled aside the cream tissue paper. Inside was a pair of new winter gloves. Fingerless, but with the option to pull a mitten-like top over them if he chose, fastened by a small button to the top of each hand. And a small note. Not addressed to him or signed, but in her handwriting he was sure.

_For your finest instruments. Merry Christmas.  
_

"Those are lovely, Edward," Tanya said, reaching over to feel the heavy material. "What do you suppose they're made of?"

"Money," Alex spat, slumping into the chair next to Edward and snatching the gloves out of his hands.

"What did _you_ give _her_?" Jake asked, staring at the gloves like they were encrusted with diamonds.

"His hard cock," Alex snorted, flinging the gloves back at Edward like they were moldy crusts of bread. "Maybe some tongue action? Mm. No one's tongue is as talented as Edward's," he slurped. "...except maybe mine, right Eddie?" Alex dipped his thumb into his mouth and sucked on it suggestively, pushing it between his teeth and moaning. _"Oh god yeah. like that. Fuck_."

"I didn't get her anything," Edward answered, trying to not giggle at Alex who was getting quite carried away with his finger-fellatio. "I mean, she never even_ looks_ at me."

"Eddie Eddie Eddie, you can't _not_ give the girl you like a present. Especially if she's gotten you one. That's like getting head and not returning the favor." Alex rolled his eyes while continuing to tongue the tip of his thumb. "Amateur."

"And what do you suggest I get a Prima Ballerina who lives in a penthouse apartment with her billionaire boyfriend?"

"I already told you. You're throbbing, rock hard-"

"Cock. Right. I heard you."

"You have a beautiful dick, Edward. Stop being so shy about sharing it."

"I can't just walk up to a girl and start fucking her, Alex. I'm not you."

"Ouch. That wasn't very nice." Alex pretended to look hurt, innocently batting his freakishly long eyelashes. He stood up from the table and pet the top of Edward's hair. Edward rolled his head back, enjoying the touch, longing for touch.

"You'll think of something. You're a man of many talents," Alex whispered in a series of exaggerated breathy pants. "A wide, _wide_ variety of many, _many_ talents. Write her a story. Draw her a picture. Sing her a song. Damn I'm getting hard just thinking about what you're capable of."

With his two brilliantly skilled hands, a drawing maybe. Alex was right. He could draw.

Edward looked at the clock on the wall. It was five minutes to eight. In the theater, the audience would be taking their seats. Isabella would soon take the stage. Edward heard the music in his ears. The sound of the orchestra would rise and fill the cavernous interior. She would be guided by another pianist, but she'd be thinking of him.

It was a cold Christmas Eve and she'd been preparing all day for the show. Rehearsal, fittings, a light lunch of almost nothing. Her hair washed and pinned tightly back. Then make-up and perfumes and lotions applied and finally the lacing of her slippers.

A familiar knock on the dressing room door told her it was time.

Smoothing out a discarded piece of sheet music he found crumpled on the living room floor, Edward sat back down at the kitchen table. _Now for something to write with_.

"Here." A nubby, bitten pencil was slapped down in front of him. He'd know those dirty fingernails anywhere.

"It doesn't have an eraser, Alex," Edward sighed.

"Oh fuck off. You don't need an eraser. Can I watch?"

"I don't know what I'm doing yet."

"Flowers?"

"Yeah I can do flowers. That's boring though."

"Your cock? I can draw that bad boy from memory."

"Come on. Be serious. I'm nervous enough about giving this to her. I don't even know how I'm going to get it to her."

"I'll drop it off for you," he shrugged, still not dressed any more appropriately for the weather conditions than he was earlier. "I happen to know, very_ intimately,_ a young lady who works the ticket counter at your precious theater. Consider it taken care of. Now draw."

"Only if you promise to wear a coat when you go. And a hat. ...And gloves."

Alex waved his hand in the air, agreeing with him but blowing off his concern. "So what is your zany lady love doing at this very moment?"

"Dancing. In _The Nutcracker_. I wasn't invited."

"Ahhh Tchaikovsky."

"You've seen it?" Edward asked hopefully.

"Nope. Heard about it though. Tin soldiers, a Mouse King, a Sugar Plum Fairy. Sexy."

"She's playing Clara."

Alex shook his head. "No clue." He pointed to the paper "Draw it."

"How can I? I've never seen the play."

"But you've seen _her_." He raised his eyebrows. "Make up the rest."

So he did. Since he couldn't be there, he imagined what the performance would look like and the pencil few across the page; the stage, the ornate Christmas tree and a few hints of dancers in the background with just one of them standing out, one in the center with the greatest detail on that dancer's clothes and pose and hair and eyes. He knew her every move by heart and he made up the rest. And maybe he got the set up of the stage all wrong because he'd never seen The Nutcracker, he'd never seen any plays except for the ones he'd snuck into and the ones they put on in their living room as a laugh, but the one thing he got right was her. The dancer in the middle.

As soon as the curtain fell and Isabella left the stage, Demetri appeared and had her by her elbow. He whisked her backstage.

There was a brief after party in the reception hall before the midnight cocktail party began at their house where everything in sight had been decorated in shiny silver and gold.

Isabella knew there would be a mountain of gifts waiting for her there, all picked out by Demetri's assistants, perfectly wrapped at the store, her name written on them by someone who didn't know her.

Demetri pushed her rudely through the door of her dressing room tapping his watch. "Get changed immediately. Make sure you look presentable and smell fresh."

As soon as the door slammed Isabella closed her eyes tightly and sighed. So much for performing perfectly. Not a toe out of line. She smeared her red lipstick with the back of her hand and tears washed the rest of her mascara down her face. She pulled the pins from her hair and let them drop to the floor one by one by one. If only he'd been here. It would have been worth it. If only he could have seen.

In the mirror a reflection of a box on the table behind her - a plain brown box tied with red twine.

"Well?" Edward held it up for Alex to see.

"Perfection," he said sincerely. "Fold it and put it in that box. Tie it up with this." He tossed a roll of twine from under the kitchen sink and began putting on Edward's coat and hat and scarf.

"Thank you, Alex," Edward smiled.

"Don't forget to sign it."

"No need. She'll know who it's from."

And when Isabella saw the carefully drawn scene she nearly lost her meager lunch. A little penciled version of herself stared up at her from between the notes on the page. Flawless. Every feature correct in all it's detail. She pressed the worn paper with torn edges to heart and cried harder. This time with happiness, because he may not have been there but of one thing she was certain.

He _had_ seen her.


	40. Set you free

**Once again: this story is not an accurate historical portrait of the time period or of dance. It's FICTION. Edward is OOC, yes. The library has many historically accurate**** books on the subject of Russia at the turn of the century. This story is not where to look for those details. I'm all for constructive criticism but this is beating a dead horse already.  
**

S. Meyer owns Twilight

* * *

**"The physical language of the body is so much more powerful than words." -Bill Irwin**

"Alex wait!" she cried out. The icy air knifed through her throat as she ran into the night.

"I don't need your help, twinkle toes! Go back to the house where it's safe and warm and where you can't fuck up anyone else's life," Alex yelled over his shoulder with venom.

"I'm coming with you! I can help you!" Isabella argued after him as loud as she could through the shrieking wind. She stumbled and tripped in the snow and the weak moonlight wasn't helping her to keep up with the figure she was struggling to follow.

Alex had stormed out of the house, slamming the door in her face, on a mission to find Edward and to bring him home. The others tried to reason with her but Isabella wasn't letting him go alone.

"Please Alex. Wait for me." Her voice wavered. Her strength was lessening. She couldn't feel her toes. Her shoes were inadequate. No more than glorified slippers. Alice's coat was too small even for her, leaving her neck exposed. Her long hair whipped around her face unkempt.

"Don't need your help," Alex grumbled. His legs were aching but he'd keep going til he reached a cleared street. The rest he'd figure out through instinct. It had never failed him before. He'd found Edward once, years ago at the youth hostel unexpectedly, and he would find him again.

"I know you hate me. I know this is all my fault. But please. Please let me help you." She braced her weight against the sharp bark of the nearest tree but he didn't stop. "I love him, Alex."

"Blah blah blah," Alex hissed. He was through with her. He knew this would happen eventually; that she'd put in danger the one thing in this dank, godforsaken country that he cared about more than pussy or cock or vodka. He'd get Edward back with his bare hands. He'd kill for him if he had to. Without hesitation. And he didn't need an uppity diva ballerina getting in his way.

But then she said something that forced him to stop in his snowy tracks.

"I know how we can find him. I can get us into the penthouse. Into Demetri's office. His files. There's got to be something there that will show us the way."

...

The servant's entrance door had never been fixed. It was how Edward had gotten in each night on his way to Isabella's bed chamber. The staff grew to know the tall handsome boy that came to see the mistress and began leaving the door open for him, even after he stopped coming.

"This way," Isabella whispered, making her way down the darkened corridors she knew by heart. Bile rose in her throat as the familiar walls surrounded her but she swallowed it down, concentrating on the task at hand.

"Fucking hell," Alex muttered under his breath, his eyes adjusting to the opulence; the smell of wealth and parties and socialites, face to face with the upper crust he'd never taste.

"Don't put the light on," he warned as they entered the high-ceilinged office, but Isabella had no intention of doing so. She went straight to the gilded desk and scanned the contents strewn haphazardly across it. Someone had been here, recently, and in a rush, not thinking, shuffling papers, barking out orders.

"It's his handwriting." She'd know it anywhere, she'd seen it endless times on that exact stationary, usually when reading daily orders that were left for her to fulfill. Isabella held up a piece of thick parchment paper with messy writing scrawled over it in large cursive letters.

_Tverskaya Street _

"Do you know where that is?" Alex demanded. "Can you take me there?" There was desperation in his hushed tone.

Her face whitened. She nodded once and Alex took her hand.

"Let's go."

...

It was a short walk in distance, but an interminable journey in time. Every step tested their resistance to the elements, to the fear that grew in their bellies at what they would find upon their arrival. Dark alleyways, wet brick. Slipping, reaching. Turn after turn he followed her. Amongst the decadent church's and lavish facades of the magnificent building's that lined each side of the street, an air of ugliness existed. It crept up their skin and buried into their subconscious, warning them. This wasn't going to end well.

"You sure you know where you're going?" Alex was sweating now.

"Hurry up," she hissed. A light drizzle fell. She turned up her collar and stopped at the corner. "Right there," she pointed to a row of dodgy, dilapidated buildings at the end of the street.

"That's a fucking _warehouse_, Isabella," Alex sneered. He pressed his shoulder to the stone and pulled his shabby coat tighter across his chest but it was pointless. The wind would not be kept out. It whipped though this long hair. He pushed it out of his eyes.

"_This_ is where they're keeping him? You wouldn't keep _pigs_ in a place like this."

She ignored the comment and scanned the empty street. Edward was here. She could feel it.

"This way," she whispered, pulling on the cuff of Alex's coat. They walked the perimeter of the flaking walls and stopped at a row of windows that were eye level. And then the noises came in waves. Voices yelling. Then silence. Then banging. More yelling, louder this time. Screams. Cries. And she turned her head away. They were the sounds of torture.

Through the filthy panes, tied to an iron chair, battered and beaten, swollen and broken, was the only love she'd ever known. Hands bound behind his back. Hair matted. Face bloodied. Lips cut. Eyes blackened. Head slack, bobbing, his chin brushing against his tattered chest. But he was still alive. The buzz in the air that signified his presence confirmed it.

Isabella stiffened like a board. Her knees weakened. She sucked in a deep breath, preparing to scream bloody murder at the top of her lungs, but something stopped her.

"Don't scream. Isabella," Alex choked, reading her mind, his eyes filling with tears at the sight before him. "Whatever you do. Don't make a _sound_." His fingernails gripped the filthy splintered window frame. Isabella collapsed to the cold ground and covered her face with her hands. She cried into them, open-mouthed and silent.

"Alex," she whimpered from the dirt. "If I ask you to do something for me, will you do it?

She waited for his answer but it didn't come. His eyes were busy, welded to the image in front of him. Edward. In the middle of a giant vacant warehouse, surrounded by a group of thugs ten deep, each of them taking turns bashing their fists into his beautiful face. Into his chest and stomach. Over and over with no mercy.

Rage ignited inside him. They would pay for what they were doing to Edward.

"_Alex_," she pleaded from her place on the ground.

"What do you want me to do?" he said in a dead voice. In his mind he was devising a plan. One that involved distraction and panic where he would play the target and the thugs would come running and Isabella, that imbecile, would lock them out in the night leaving the three of them stuck inside, but they would climb to the rafters and jump from that window up there to the roof of the warehouse next door. Edward would be in pain but unless his legs were broken, he'd run. They'd get away. It would work.

Isabella knew better. There were more of Demetri's henchmen that couldn't be seen. In those surrounding buildings. Behind those filmy windows. Men with knives and guns. And she and Alex had nothing but instinct between them. She rose to her feet, avoiding the scene on the other side of the window, and pulled Alex swiftly down the alley.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, pulling her nails from his elbow. "Edward is in there. Why are we walking _away_?"

"Stand here," she said, positioning him in the shadows of a crumbling wall on the opposite side of the street. It wasn't a request, it was an order given in a tone learned from a life under Demetri's boot.

"Don't move. No matter what happens, do _not_ move from this spot."

"And where the fuck do you think _you're _going? I have a plan, princess. I'm getting Edward out of here, away from this _shit_, away from YOU. ...You're the worst thing that's ever happened to us," he faded out the last bit, because he only partially meant it. Isabella heard the words but they had no effect on her anymore, no matter how hurtful they were in their accuracy.

"Please, Alex," she sighed. "There's only one way. Stay here. Let me make this right. "

"How? What are _you_ going to do? Lure the beasts out and attempt to reason with them? Bat your eyelashes? Pirouette? Give them a swift slap across the face with the back of your tiny hand? Who are you kidding, petal. This is a man's job. Leave it to me." He took off down the alley without a second look in her direction, kicking up snow in his wake.

"_Jasper was right!_" she cried out after him. Her voice was too loud, echoing in the night, it would give them away, but she had to stop him somehow.

"They're trying to beat it out of him, but Edward will never tell them where I am, and once they realize that, they'll kill him anyway. They're going to _kill him_, Alex. Even if they don't get me in return."

Alex shook his head, no, stubborn as a mule. "Seeing you will only make it happen faster and give away the one chance we have of getting Edward out of there alive. Demetri wants you to suffer for leaving him, for embarrassing him. What better way than to torture and kill the one you love? Preferably while you watch. Now go," he condescended. "Run on home. I'll take it from here."

"Let Edward's death rest on your head then, and while you're at it you can prepare for your own. My way is the _only_ way that any of us will make it out of this alive."

And with that, Alex turned and threw up his hands in defeat. "Ok fine," he growled, stalking back to her side. "_Fine_. You win, buttercup. Go on then. Enlighten me. What is your brilliant plan and why is it my place to hide in the darkness like a street rat?"

"It's called barter," she said matter of factly. There was no more fear left in her. She would gladly trade her life for Edward's, for he had so much more to give to the world than she ever would.

"He won't hurt me," she lied. Demetri would most certainly hurt her. He'd hurt her in the past for far less offenses than this - a missed step, a cross word. If anything, they'd force Edward to watch the reverse, to stand by while Demetri tore open her dress and claimed what was rightfully his, over and over and with fists. But she wouldn't think about that right now.

She amended her statement. "He won't _kill_ me. You wanna know why?" She pulled her dress up to her knees, wincing as the cold air assaulted her bare skin. "...Did you know that money had legs? Am I not the prettiest walking rouble you've ever seen? Now let me go. Don't follow me. Stay here and keep your eye on that door there. Keep your eye on that door. No matter what happens, do not take your eye off that door. Alex? Do you understand?"

Alex nodded slowly and retreated back into the shadows. He watched Isabella look both ways as she crossed the street. She stood up straight and walked proudly and with purpose and when she threw open the heavy door, the sickening light washed over the pure frosted snow.

"ENOUGH!" he heard her scream and the door slammed shut, locking her inside and leaving him once again in silence.

Inside, Isabella's heart was racing. The yellow light was so bright, brighter than she had expected. It came from every angle and crevice, from above and all sides, there was nowhere for her to turn that would relieve her from the blinding light and allow her to collect her bearings.

_"Edward!"_ she cried out, startled by the echo.

She squinted and took a few steps forward, her arms outstretched.

The sound of footsteps approaching and Isabella's eyes cleared to let in the gloomy concrete of her surroundings.

"Well well well. This is quite the surprise. However did you find us?"

She spun around until her eyes landed on him, in the doorway. Dressed to the nines, as ever. Her stomach rolled.

"Demetri," she swallowed and composed herself. Her first thought. "Where is he? Where is Edward?"

"Edward? Hmm..." He stroked his mustache lazily.

Isabella held up her hand. "Don't act. I know you have him. I heard him. I heard what your_ thugs_ were doing to him," she spat, disgusted.

"Ohhhh, right. Edward. Yes. We were just having a little fun."

"You bastard," she seethed. "Turn him loose."

"Tsk tsk tsk, Isabella. You know better than that." he cracked his knuckles. "You look lovely this evening, even in those disgusting rags."

Isabella closed her eyes and said a silent prayer.

"Turn him loose...and I'll come back with you."

Giving the signal, Demetri bent his arm and snapped his finger. At the other end of the room a door opened and a burly hulk of a man emerged dragging Edward behind him. There was a blindfold over his eyes, a gag in his mouth, no coat, his hands tied behind his back. He followed the hulk like a dog being taken for a walk. They reached a chair in the center of the room and the hulk pushed Edward down. Edward sat hunched over, in obvious discomfort, coughing choking coughs, licking his lips to assess the damage that had been done to them, tasting blood.

Isabella bit her tongue until she tasted blood of her own and fought every urge that told her to run to him.

Demetri circled Edward like a vulture.

"You have a visitor," he hissed into Edward's ear. "A very beautiful one at that." Edward's head darted up even though he couldn't see. He opened his mouth, wanting to say Isabella's name, desperately wanting to call out to her, but he remained silent, not knowing for sure if it was a trick or not.

"I wonder how long she will remain as beautiful as she is at this very moment," Demetri continued and out of nowhere Isabella was suddenly surrounded by three Hulk-lookalikes. A gasp escaped her mouth and Edward let out a muffled scream as he realized that it _was_ Isabella. She'd come from him, and she was in great danger.

Isabella took a desperate step towards Edward but was intercepted by a beastly man with python arms and a gun pointed at her.

"It's alright, Edward. I'm alright. I'm not hurt." She choked back a sob. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him, how she would do whatever it took to set him free, and how sorry she was that this was happening. But she couldn't show her hand. Declaring her undying love for another man in front of Demetri would not be a wise decision. She had to remain cold and strong and methodical. This was her stage, and no one could control a stage better than Isabella Swan.

"Let him go, Demetri, and I'll do what I said."

"Hmm, I don't know. You see," Demetri mused. "He plays such beautiful piano. I was thinking of bringing him on board, although it might prove difficult for him to do so now, what with the broken fingers and-"

"No more!" Isabella cried, turning her head and wincing at the thought of Edward's immaculate hands being mangled. The three men quickly closed in on her and she recognized one of their faces - the youngest of the three - from one of the many midnight meetings Demetri held in his office until the wee hours of the morning. He'd always been polite to her, bowing when she entered a room and addressing her as a lady.

"Pavel," she said softly. "Don't do this. You're a good man. You don't have to do this. Please. Let us go. Please, Pavel," she whimpered. She reached out to him and clutched the lapel of his coat. He reeled back in surprise but she wouldn't let go. She clung to him and continued to beg, hoping that she might be able to reach the gentleman that had held open the door for her all those times in the past.

"Please, Pavel."

She felt his large hands clamp down on her wrists and she knew she wasn't going to win. Desperation overwhelmed her and as quickly as one flips on a lightswitch she found her way out of his grasp and inside his coat where she relieved him of his firearm. With the gun in hand she dashed out of reach and instead of pointing it at her attackers, she placed the barrel to her temple.

"Let him go or I'll do it. I'll do it Demetri."

Edward screamed a muffled _NO!_ and rocked in the chair he was tied to, frantically shaking his head until the blindfold came down. Demetri's thug punched him in the stomach and Edward doubled over, silent.

Isabella stood tall, clutching the gun in her hand, holding it confidently to her temple. "You love money, Demetri, and the status it brings. You love it more than making a point. You won't kill me. You'll beat me in places that won't show on stage. You'll make me sleep outside like a dog. You'll force yourself on me and make me fuck you night after night while I cry. You won't kill me. But if you don't let Edward go, I'll kill myself. Right here. You think I'm bluffing? I'm not scared of death. It's preferable to spending a lifetime with you. Try me."

Minutes passed and the stand-off continued. Edward's breaths became more labored as he slumped lower in the chair. Isabella stood strong, never wavering, her finger on the trigger.

Finally a laborious sigh of consent.

"Very well. Do as she asks," Demetri ordered.

"But Romanoff-" the hulk protested. "We're just going to _let him go_?"

"If you've done what I instructed, he won't survive the damage you've inflicted. Medical attention is scarce where this boy is from. Let him go."

The hulk walked over to Edward, removed his gag and pulled him to a standing position.

"Take her into the back room and lock it," Demetri ordered Hulk-lookalie #1.

"NO!" Edward screamed, resisting being shoved through the door and into the unforgiving night. "_BELLA DON'T DO THIS!_" It couldn't be the last time he ever saw her. Not like this.

"We were never meant to work, Edward," she reasoned under her breath, tears falling uncontrolled. She called out after him as she was being pulled away to a fate she had sealed for herself, not with what he most desired to hear and not with what ached inside her to be said; those things she had to believe he already knew.

"Edward. Whatever you do...don't try to find me."

* * *

**And YES, I looked up Tverskaya Street. **

**en(dot)wikipedia(dot)org/wiki/Tverskaya_Street**

**And I know I know, Isabella went BACK to him? WTF? This chapter is a turning point that leads to the end of the story, because OF COURSE Edward is going to try and get her back. Duh! ;p  
**


	41. Raise a tent of shelter

**A/N: Hello there. I never intended for a year to pass without an update on this story. Regardless of how much ignorant hate I've received over it, it's the love and appreciation from those wonderful others of you that have helped keep my passion for this story alive and burning. Therefore, I've decided to stoke the embers. Selfishly it's more for me - I hate not finishing things - but also for you. You know who you are and I truly adore you. The rest can fuck right off :)**

**Not all that much happens in this chapter. Just picking back up and getting back into the swing of things since I write this story a bit different than my others.**

**Stephenie Meyer still owns Twilight. I'm just messing around.**

* * *

**We should consider everyday lost in which we don't dance -Neitzshe**

"We'll find her..."

"I promise..."

"No matter how long it takes..."

"Edward, look at me..."

Alex's pleading fell on deaf ears. Edward hadn't said a word, uttered a sound, made any attempt to communicate with Alex in any way, shape, or form since being chased away in the dead of night from the cold, dingy warehouse where Isabella had swapped her life for his freedom. Even the searing pain of having his broken fingers set in rudimentary splints without the comfort of anesthesia, or having to bite down on a broom handle while Paul bound his rib cage with elastic-like bandages to lessen the chance that his fractured ribs would split like dried chicken bones, or keeping still while Paul determined that his busted nose was swollen, but not broken, and that he would just have to live without those two back teeth - - not once during any of those events that sent Alex's stomach reeling did Edward utter two intelligible words strung together. When they finally left the clinic, Edward's only reaction that would indicate an acknowledgement that he'd even been there was a slight nod of the head in Paul's direction as Alex signed him out at the front desk.

"Your drink's almost empty," Alex stated obviously, desperately. There wasn't enough money to fill the prescription they'd been given so Alex had steered them towards the only place he knew of that would have something to kill the pain.

"Have another one, yeah?" Alex stared at Edward's profile that, in turn, stared straight ahead at the colorful bottles of booze lined up behind the bar. Without hesitation, Edward raised one of his mangled fingers and performed the only motion he'd made since sitting down on the rickety stool in the filthy underground bar drenched in the sounds of traffic roaring overhead mixed with the melancholy jazz seeping out from the radio above the register.

Edward motioned for a refill.

The portly bartender approached with the bottle and poured the squat glass full to the brim with shit vodka. Alex was at an absolute loss. In all his time with Edward, knowing him intimately and in every way that it's possible to know another human being, he'd never seen him like this. Every fight they'd ever had, Edward had always been the one to speak first. He had always been the one who'd rather fight than give the silent treatment. Always wanted to talk, yell, hit. Anything but avoid.

"Your shirt's got blood all over it. That guy's looking at us like... They probably think you just came from some -" The sentence hung wasted in the air as Alex realized the fruitlessness of where it was going. There was no hope of injecting humor into their present situation. Edward's eyes had Isabella in them and what was no doubt happening to her at that precise moment was nothing to laugh about.

Edward lifted his glass to his lips, sipped, swallowed, put it down and made no other move. Alex tapped on the rim of his own wet glass. The voice inside his head told him to chuck the remainder of its contents at Edward's battered face. That would get his attention. Edward cracked the knuckles of his good hand without flinching and Alex told the voice in his head to shut the fuck up.

The busty redhead at the end of the bar was giving Alex that look. Had been all night. Since they first arrived. The eye. That come-here-ole-chum, you-look-right-for-shagging, easy, let's take it in the bathroom-stalls look. If it had been any other night Alex would already have his trousers 'round his ankles.

Edward sighed miserably and closed his black eyes.

_Right. Sorry sexy. Not tonight._

Without deciding if it was a good idea or not, Alex put his hand on Edward's bony shoulder. Edward didn't flinch away so Alex kept it there and spoke low and with severity.

"We can go right now. Edward. We'll go back right now. We'll get her. I'll find a gun. We'll...I'll... " He looked around hopelessly. "There must be someone in this seedy joint with a gun. I'll barter it off them or steal it, whatever it takes, and we'll go back there. We'll barge right the fuck in there. I'll blast them all to high fucking heaven and we'll get her back! They'll never see us coming - "

"Tell me why."

Alex stopped short. Stunned. Edward remained unflinching, unmoved, the glass with ice and vodka playing at his fingertips. Maybe it was a dream. No. Alex was certain. It _had_ been Edward's voice. He wouldn't miss the chance.

He scooted forward.

"Ok, Edward. Sure. No problem. I'll tell you why...um...why _what,_ exactly?"

"Why did you bring...Isa -" The name choked in Edward's throat and died on his cracked, dry lips as the tears began to roll effortlessly down his black and blue cheeks. He composed himself and managed to continue. "Why did you bring her with you? Why were you there _period_?" It was obvious in the set of his jaw that Edward was holding back a rage inside him that, if unleashed where they presently sat, would cause them a swift eviction from the drinking establishment and a severely worded order never to return. "How could you," he spat with disgust.

"I didn't bring her. I'm not a fucking idiot," Alex answered honestly, forthright. "She followed me."

"Oh she did, huh," Edward answered in monotone. He contemplated the ice floating in his drink and took a sip.

"Yes. She did," Alex insisted. "I was going after you regardless of what the fuck anyone else in the house said. They said I was_ crazy_. That going after you was ensuring your death sentence. But they _had you_, Edward. The thought of what they were doing to you - I couldn't stay put. So I left. I told her to fuck off. That it was all her fault. That I didn't need her help. Didn't want it. She's a stubborn pain in the ass, I'll tell you that much. She must be ace in the sack cuz - sorry. ...Look, I'm your friend. I love you."

"Yeah I know." Edward sighed, putting down his glass resolutely. Their hands met on top of the bar. Their fingers slid together. Alex squeezed and waited for Edward to squeeze back. He hadn't counted to five yet when he felt it. It was weak but it was there.

"We'll find her, Edward. I promise."

...

"_London._"

A torn, crinkled newspaper clipping slapped down on the table near his elbow. Alex flinched back in his chair, one hand still safely gripping his cracked mug with the missing handle.

"Hasn't anyone told you it's rude to interrupt someone's morning tea?" He gave her a smarmy smirk and took an exaggerated noisy sip.

"_Fuck _your morning tea, _asshole_, and read this." Alice sat on the table and slid the paper under his perky nose until he had no choice but to pay attention.

…


	42. The hidden language of the soul

**"Dance is the hidden language of the soul" -Martha Graham **

Alice had found it balled up in one of the trash bins while she was cleaning a room at the inn where she worked as a maid part-time. Dozens were discarded every day – handsomely printed journals, limited editions made available by the State Paper Printing Office in St. Petersburg, _Voshkod, Novoe vremia, Peterburgskii listok, Moskoviskii listok_ and more, foreign papers as well– all up for grabs by merely digging through the trash before it was hauled to the street. She had been in Moscow the longest and knew the language well, partially from teaching herself through observation, patience, and listening and partially due to her ease in retaining knowledge. It was one of her gifts; multilingualism and the speed at which she learned, almost as if she already knew whatever it was she'd just come into contact with, as though she could see into the future.

She'd shown the paper to Alex first, of course. He didn't appear phased by the information but Alice knew he was pretending. She could see the cogs turning inside that maze-like mind of his. Then he was out of the room in a flash and for a moment Alice thought maybe she'd made a mistake.

...

"You can't be serious! Edward, _please_ tell me you're not..._Alex_, tell me he's not serious!" Tanya wailed, her hands clasped to the sides of her head as she paced frantic circles in the shabby living room carpet.

"Looks serious to me," Alex shrugged, leaning casually against the doorframe observing the scene. The sarcastic remark was immediately met with a harsh wagging index finger pointed directly at the bridge of his perfect nose. On the other end, a very unamused Tanya barely able to speak through gritted teeth.

"_You little shit._ This is all your fault. He'll be killed! _He'll _be killed and somehow _you'll _survive. Lucky us! We'll lose Edward and be left with YOU."

Turning on her bare heel she marched across the room with a purpose, to stand in front of Edward who sat still, quietly staring at the newspaper article in his lap.

"You're not going. Do you hear me? That's it. I'm putting my foot down. Edward. You are _not_ going."

"Tan-"

"I said _no_," she begged. "Edward, please." She fell to his feet and brushed away the page to rest her hands on his bent knees. Tears streamed down her ruddy cheeks, her dirty blond hair lay matted to her forehead. Edward leaned forward and gently wiped the tears away but the sentiment only served to make her cry harder. _ Not him. Don't take Edward. He's too important._

"I won't lose you, Edward Cullen. Let _him_ go. Let him risk his life for you. It's about fucking time he did something for someone else-"

"_You don't know anything_!" Alex erupted. His tolerance was at an end. He lunged at Tanya only to be held back by Jake before he could reach the swell of her throat. Tanya remained unphased. They'd done this dance before. They'd gone at it over the years more than anyone else in the house and he'd never laid a finger to harm her even when their arguments brought the house down and he could have easily snapped her neck.

She stood her ground. She even took a few steps closer to dare him.

"You're an arrogant, selfish _thief._ You don't care about anyone but yourself."

"Tanya," Jake interrupted. "That's not true and you know it. Alex loves Edward more than anything. Everyone in this house knows that. He may have a shitty way of showing it but -"

"Jesus Christ!" Alex roared, throwing his arms to the ceiling. "Doesn't bashing me _ever _get old? I risked my life to save him from that maniac and now I'm risking it again to get Isabella back for _him_! Not for _me_! I'm going after a woman for another man! I lose the guy _and_ the girl in the end. If that isn't the most unselfish thing I've ever done then I don't know what is!"

When the echoes of his anger faded the house fell silent. Tanya sunk to the couch with a defeated sigh, her animosity waning. It had been an exhausting night brewed with long-harbored emotions. The ones she held for Edward she kept close to her breast.

Edward scooted over to give her more room and she rested her head on his shoulder. He sighed and he smelled like sweat and trembled with anticipation. In that moment, with the soundtrack of Edward's heartbeat playing in her ear, Tanya understood. He could find Isabella. With Alex's help he _would_ find Isabella. It was there in black and white and crumpled on the floor. Directions that lead straight to her door printed in the entertainment section.

"Ok," she whispered into his shoulder. Her tears wetted his shirt but she couldn't hold them back. Instead she rooted her face even deeper into his warm flesh and inhaled. "You go." She'd remember him just like this.

"Don't tell my brother. Tanya, I mean it. Or Rosalie. They can't know."

"What should I say when they come round looking for you? Where do I tell them you are?"

"Tell them I went back to America to find a better job."

"_What?_ Edward, they'll never believe that."

"Oh and they'll believe that I've hitchhiked to London with my ex-lover to find my current lover who traded her soul for my freedom and is living in bondage with a madman who's forcing her to dance for his profit and that when I find her I'm going to free her by any means necessary? Even if it means killing him?'

...

Alice mended their few pieces of clothes the best she could with the one needle and three spools of thread she had rolling around in her sewing basket. She closed the holes in their treadbare socks, reinforced the seams in their overcoats to keep out the draft, redid the hems of their trousers so they wouldn't drag along the muddy streets of London. She worked through the night and into the morning and when she was done she sat in her rocking chair alone in the room where she'd once spent many nights with the only boy she'd ever loved and she sobbed quietly, hand over her mouth so no one would hear.

That same early morning Tanya reached under her twin bed and pulled out the one pair of fancy dress shoes she owned and was saving for a special occasion. Every few weeks she'd take them out and wipe the dust from the white-now-yellowed fabric before trying them on and having a pretend dance around the room with her pretend beau.

In the left toe she kept her life savings. With shaking hands she counted the paper and few coins and when no one was around she pulled Edward into the washroom and forced him to take it. Her grip was as strong as her will.

"Not one word, Edward Cullen," she threatened with tears in her eyes. "You'd do the same for me. Damn you. Y'know, there may have been a time when I...when I thought we'd..."

"_Tanya_..."

"No. Let me say this. I'll regret it if I don't. It's never been easy for me to say or act on my feelings, no matter how strong. And for you they were, are, were, ugh I don't know...you inspire me, Edward. You always have. And maybe I dreamed about you...and me, god this is so embarrassing. I dreamt about you, ok? I did. When you were with Alex, I thought, ok, that's the way he is, I have no shot, but then I saw you with that girl, remember the time I walked in and -"

"Spoiled the moment?" he chuckled and Tanya's face reddened.

"So you do remember?"

"How could I forget? I finally understood what Alex meant by 'blue balls'."

"Yeah well I knew then that if you were about to do that with her then you wouldn't mind doing it with other girls and I thought that maybe I could be – whatever, "she shrugged, embarrassed to say the rest.

"What are you telling me? That you've had a crush on me all this time and never told me? You like me?"

"Don't tease me."

"I'm not. I swear. Tanya. You're amazing. You're the strongest person I know. You hold all of us up." His strong arms encircled her just as her legs gave out.

"I don't want to be strong," she sobbed, finally letting go and allowing herself to be fragile and small. She clung to Edward with her fists balling up the fabric of his shirt and she pulled him even closer as she wept. "_Edward_. I'm not. I'm weak and I'm scared and I don't want to lose you. I can't. I don't know what I'd do if I never saw you again. And not because I'm holding a candle for you the way Alice is for Alex. I'm not. I know you'll never be mine like that. I've accepted it, but I need you in my life, _alive_."

"Ok," he whispered into her hair.

"Promise me you'll come back."

"This is just another page."

"I don't care. Promise me."

"I'll come back, Tanya. I promise."

...

Seated around the kitchen table they ate in strained silence. Everyone staring down at their plate of mash and bread. Taking measured sips of tea and water. The sounds of chewing and scraping and swallowing masking the grim absence of words. Even _The Last Supper_ had some ceremony to it.

It was Alice who finally broke the silence.

"Maybe we should say a few words." She looked around the table with a hopeful smile to find no one's faces looking back.

The scraping and chewing continued.

"After all," she persisted. "This is our last dinner with Edward and Alex before they leave us." The lump she'd been trying to suppress all evening inevitably formed in her throat. _Before we lose them,_ is what she really wanted to say, to yell, to beg them not to go.

"You call this a dinner?" Alex snorted, slurping dripping spoonfuls of vegetable broth into his open mouth. Jasper chucked a thick slice of bread at his head. He knew Alice had spent hours over the stove preparing the perfect farewell celebration and he'd be damned if he was going to let Alex make light of it. The slice whizzed past Alex's thick skull without impact. Alex picked it off the floor and dropped it onto his plate with amusement. He threaded his fingers together on the table and shot Jasper his trademark cocky grin.

"My, My I do _love it _when you make a spectacle. But you don't mean it. You've loved playing hard to get all these years."

"That's enough, Alex." Edward spoke, his voice low and controlled. They were the first words he'd uttered since they'd sat down to supper and he'd said them without lifting his eyes from his plate. He sat to Alex's left, immersed in a world or his own, oblivious to the childish going's-on around him until that moment.

"Why? You might as well go out with a bang," Jake grumbled under his breath from his seat at the end of the table. With a loud scrape of his chair he bolted up and stomped out of the room, his utensils clattering to the floor.

Jasper smiled calmly and rested his hand on top of Alice's who appeared startled by the sudden outburst.

"Pay him no mind. All this is hitting Jacob a little closer to the vest than he expected. He's having a hard time handling his emotions. Why don't you say a few words, Alice? I think it's a nice idea." But it was too late. The moment had passed and Alice's insides were twisting. Alex would never be hers. He would never want her the way she wanted him. He would never understand her, or care to. He loved her body. He'd told her so while he was inside it, but when it was over he held her too briefly, kissed her too quickly and then he was gone. He never went to her with his concerns or fears or problems. Those he took to Edward or kept to himself. But mostly, Edward. It would always be Edward. Girls in between, and boys, and more girls, but always Edward. There was no one that would ever take his place, she was convinced. And nothing she could say would change that.

"I wish you both good luck and success on your journey," she smiled stoically. "Be careful. Look out for each other."

Jasper squeezed her hand and suddenly there was something else. She peeled her stare off Alex's face, where it usually resided, and looked at Jasper. Had he always been there?

"Well," Alex burped, pushing away from the table. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm shattered. Time to hit the hay. We've got an early day ahead of us," he slapped Edward roughly on the back. "Thanks for the send off and the meal. Alice, you're a star." He winked at her and for the first time since she'd laid eyes on him covered in mud from head to toe after a drunken brawl, her heart didn't skip a beat.

...

They spent their last night in the attic, covered in the same blankets they'd made love in and on and tangled between countless times. Blankets that soaked up semen and tears. That heard the moans of pleasure, the yells of anger, the cries of pain. But that was centuries ago and if those fabrics made them remember those times, they didn't speak it aloud. They simply allowed the comfort of the past to protect them from the unknown future, the all-too-fleeting present. Their bags were packed and stacked by the door. Both of them. All that was left was the waiting. And the cot where they laid eyes half open. Alex's fingers in Edward's hair. It always worked. Play with Edward's hair and he'd be out like a light in thirty seconds. Everyone knew this. Isabella knew it and that's who's fingers Edward imagined.

"Are you scared?" Alex asked.

He nodded.

"Of what?"

No answer.

"That we won't find her?"

Edward shook his head. No. They'd find her.

"That we won't come home?"

No.

"That we'll be hurt in the process?"

He shook his head.

"That we'll die?"

No.

Alex couldn't help but snort. "You're not afraid that one, or both, of us will be killed? Arrested? Tortured?"

Each questioned Alex asked, Edward answered with a shake of his head against the pillow.

"Alright, my love. I give. You're not afraid that we won't find her. You're confident we will. You're not concerned for our safety, it seems, which is odd since we are going to a country where we know no one, we barely have two coins to rub together, we're unarmed..."

"We've done that before. That's how we came here, isn't it?"

"You didn't let me finish...the people we're going to see will most likely kill us on sight. And yet, you remain unmoved. Tell me then, darling. What is it you're afraid of?"

"...That when we find her...she won't come back to me."

"Ahh, I see. You think maybe she's grown to enjoy being slapped around?"

"Don't talk about her like that."

"Fine."

"I can't live without her. Everything's bland. There's no color, no music in anything."

"There will be music again."

* * *

**Thank you all again for reading/putting up with this story. I can't force myself to write it any other way. It's all finished in my head but it has to come out in its own time. The temperamental little minx ;p**

**Next chapter is London and Isabella xoxo**


	43. Last year's man

**I just want to give mad love to all of you still sticking with this story, and sticking with it, and sticking with it. You are the absolute best. Thank you for reviewing and even though my replies are lame, I'm writing them with a big grin on my face :D**

* * *

_Well, you know that I love to live with you  
But you make me forget so very much  
I forget to pray for the angels  
And then the angels forget to pray for us_

_Now we met when was it? We were almost young  
We stand by the green lilac park  
You held on to me like I was a crucifix  
As we went kneeling through the dark_

_- Leonard Cohen, So Long Marianne_

"_This is it?_"

"Yeah, what's wrong with it?"

Edward lead Alex by the hand through murky shadows that early morning brings as the tired sun rises haphazardly tossing its light wherever there are cracks to let it in. And the dingy establishment they currently walked through had more than its share of cracks and crevices, hiding places stuffed with grease and grime, vomit and piss. Reminders of gaiety. Reminders of mistakes.

"Nothing. Except that it's a fucking _shithole_. Christ, Edward. Even _I _wouldn't drop my pants here."

"It's a bar, Alex, not a back room. I'm afraid you'll have to keep your clothes on while you're here."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll be fired, that's what," Edward snapped back and then smiled. He squeezed Alex's hand and kept pulling him through the maze of tables and overturned wooden chairs. It was nearly 6am. Alex hadn't been pleased at being woken up at 5, but he insisted on seeing where Edward went at the crack of dawn and where he stayed until the opposite end of the day. He was a mess of grumbles and muttered curses as he slipped his trousers on as quickly as he could before the cold morning air assaulted him. They had found a bare slat-floor room where they could pay by the week to sleep on a thin mattress supported by a rickety bedspring. Unfortnately, what they could afford to pay didn't include the luxury of temperature control.

Edward hugged him tight. A thank you hug which Alex shrugged off, punching Edward playfully in the arm to get away. It's too easy to cross lines in close quarters and Alex knew himself too well. With Edward it would be too easy, too dangerous to use the cold, the tiny twin bed, the shared toilet, the shaking bodies pressed together to keep warm...

"So what do they make you do here?" Alex huffed as Edward flipped a switch and an exposed lightbulb came to life.

"A little of everything. Stock booze, sweep the floor, wipe down the bar, do the dishes-"

"Whoa whoa whoa, they have you doing the dishes?"

"Beer mugs and wine glasses mostly, but yeah." Edward's brow furrowed in confusion as he looked at Alex, whose face had contorted as if he were going to be sick.

"Ugh. That is a _grotesque_ thought. That those gorgeous hands capable of bringing orgasmic pleasure to so many orifices-"

"Alex."

" - of mine in particular, if memory serves me correctly. Those magical, mystical, bendable fingers-"

"_Alex._ Alright. Enough," Edward laughed incredulously. "Yes, ok, yes I do the dishes in the kitchen of a dingy bar. Someone has to pay the rent."

"Ouch. That comment would sting if I wasn't already confident that you knew that while you're slaving away over a steaming sink until the wee hours of the morning, I'm taking in every sell-out show in the theater district in the hopes of finding your one true love. Illegally, of course."

"You're going to get caught," Edward sighed, stacking the crusty dishes and sticky pint glasses from the previous night's debauchery onto the metal racks.

"Nahhhhhh. I look the part. I nicked a classy suit from a shop on the high street while the pretty salesgirl was in the toilet cleaning my cum off her panties, and I have a lovely lady on each arm to accompany me to the show of their choosing each night. And they're _happy_ to be there with me; happy to have paid for my drinks _and_ my ticket and believe me, I make it worth their while during intermission." He winked. "So there you are. Nothing to worry about."

Edward laughed and shook his head in ever-present disbelief at Alex's mastery of the art of connivance. "How do you do it, Al?"

"Do what?" Alex grinned with a modest shrug. "It's easy. _Charm_."

"_Charm,_" Edward mimicked. "Right."

"It worked on you, didn't it? Geez. How about a thank you?"

"I'll thank you when you find her."

...

_Dearest Edward,_

_ I pray this letter finds you well. I've made every effort to ensure that it reaches you without endangering anyone that matters. It's four in the morning where I am and as usual, you're all I think about. If I know you as well as I think I do, you're awake too. Sitting by the window, staring, worrying about me. Well, I hope this letter gives you relief; puts that precious mind of yours at ease. I am well, Edward. Really I am. I am in no danger. It's cold here but I like where I'm living. I have my own room. He leaves me alone. He hasn't touched me. He hasn't forced me into his bed. I promise you that. I made him swear that I'd no longer have to be with him in that way or else I'd throw myself off the nearest bridge. He obviously agreed. Clever, no? I wake in the morning and dance until dusk. It's wonderful. All that's missing is you. Your face is everywhere; when my eyes are open and especially when they are closed. Your hands are on me every night in all the right places, the places you know best. They touch me like no one else ever will. Your music plays in my ears. Your voice lives in my mind. I belong to you always. I miss you. I forgive you and I ask that you please forgive me for what I am about to say. Edward, please move on. I beg you. Find another to share your gifts with. You must. It's the only way. Please don't look for me. Don't come after me. I'd die if anything more were to happen to you because of me. You'll be hurt. You'll be killed. They're expecting you. They're prepared. Please listen to me. I'm not asking you to forget about me, for I'll never be able to forget you. I want you to live a long, happy life with babies and a wife, and the only way to do that is to stay away from me. There are more important people in this world who need you__. But I'll love you always._

_Forever._

_Your Isabella._

…

"What's that?"

"A letter."

"For who?"

"...Edward."

"Who's it from?"

Tanya let the letter fall from her hand and walked into the kitchen without stopping to care where it fell. How Isabella felt meant nothing to her. As far as she was concerned, Edward was dead. He'd never read that letter, and it was all Isabella's fault.

The thick parchment floated listlessly to the floor and rested at Alice's feet. With a sigh she bent to pick it up.

_Forever._

_Your Isabella._

"What have you got there?" came a low, manly voice at her ear. She shivered with delight but remained modest and still.

"It's a letter from Isabella. For Edward."

"You're smiling," he hummed. His breath smelled like cherry candies.

"It's beautifully written. Would you like to read it?"

"No. It's not for me." He wrapped his arms around her slim waist and nuzzled his face into her slender neck until she giggled. "You, on the other hand, _are_ for me. Completely."

...

Edward was woken up by a cold hand boldly reaching into his boxers.

"W_hat the...!_" He jumped straight up, feet on the floor, bare-chested and shivering. His eyes adjusted to the darkness. The light of the moon streaming through the filmy window coated the room the color of piss and mildew. The cold hand still rested on his waist. Edward drew back, knowing finally who it belonged to. That familiar touch, though now unwanted. Alex's eyes glowed in the moonlight. He was rumpled but still fully dressed in a tux and evening coat.

"Christ, Alex, what the hell are you doing? Turn a light on!"

"Power's been turned off, my friend. Remember? We were short this week. You better get under the covers before you catch pneumonia. Or put some clothes on. My heavens, you are a handsome tease."

"What time is it?"

"Half past three. ...How was work?"

"Spectacular," Edward snorted, jumping back into bed and throwing the covers up to his chin. How exciting could a night spent scraping vomit and beer off of cheap silverware be? Alex snickered and began to undress.

"Aren't you going to ask me how _my _night was?" The question was asked without a hint of sarcasm. He genuinely wanted Edward to ask.

"Should I? Is it going to be different than any other night since we arrived? Tits, ass, expensive drinks, expensive seats, limos, lies...am I warm?" Edward snarled, jealousy and envy apparent in his voice. "Do you even appreciate the shows you are having the privilege of seeing?"

"Hey this is work for me too, Eddy boy. I'm on a mission." Alex tore off his clothes and stood naked in the cold air. "I'm always listening. My eyes are on the crowd. Always scanning. Always on the lookout for that prick Demetri and his henchmen. Always watching the stage for your precious Miss Swan. I'm not paying attention to costumes or music or ability. I could give a toss. And all the time I'm trying to keep my paychecks happy. Eh? Understand? It's not glamorous. Ok maybe a little, but it's exhausting. Sure, I get my rocks off in the toilets or in the back of the limo or in their hotel room afterwards, but not after I've done my job."

"Maybe I should take over. We've been here for weeks. I'm scrubbing my fingers raw while you're up to your balls in upscale pussy every fucking night. She's out there, Alex! The paper said she'd be here!"

"Edward -"

"I know, I know. That show closed before we got here, but you promised! _I'll find her_, you said. _Get a job, stay out of sight. I'll handle everything_, you said."

"It's the only way. You'd be recognized in an instant. It's suicide."

"She might not even be in town anymore! The plan isn't working."

"Yes it is."

"How can you say that? You've been to a dozen shows. Followed half as many pointless leads. There are no posters, no previews. What's the point in - "

"Tomorrow."

"- staying here? We should move, we should find - "

"_Edward_. Did you hear what I said?"

"Huh?"

"_Tomorrow_."

"What about it?"

"Giselle."

"What?"

"_Giselle._"

"What are you taking about?"

"Ohhhh 'Mister I'm _so well read'_, 'Mister _novel'_, 'Mister _literature'_, don't you know what _Giselle_ is? Or should the illiterate, drop-out, former junkie, fucking _loser_, fucking waste of space, tell you about it?" Alex's voice cracked and harsh and raw and Edward knew that the words he spat held more meaning than he would ever let on. Edward sat up and shifted across the mattress.

"Hey. Alex. You know I don't think those things about you." Edward reached for Alex's arm, but Alex pulled away. A first.

Alex was silent, somewhat embarrassed by his outburst. _I don't want you to see me like this. You don't know me. ...Edward? Is that your name? You're pretty. Do you have any money?_

"Hey, look at me." But Alex wouldn't look. Edward forced his hand and tried to turn his chin.

"Alex. Baby."

"Don't," Alex growled through gritted teeth. "Don't baby me. You don't mean it."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't say you're sorry either." Alex's voice squelched and ragged and for the first time in years Edward was transported. To the weak Alex. The scared. The shamed. He was still there. He'd always been. _ Go away. Don't look at me like this._

"What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing!" Alex cried. "I don't want you to say anything. I know what you think of me. You think I'm out there on the town, making connections, scoring freebies...and yeah, I fucked those girls. Two tonight as a matter of fact. But I'm not proud. I didn't want to come back here, to our flat, and brag about it to you. Edward..."

"I know, Alex..."

"I'm selling myself to them. If you want to know the truth – that's what it is. They're using me as much as I'm using them. But at least I've got a greater purpose. I've got _you. _Here. Waiting for me. Who have they got to go home to? A frigid bed? An empty marriage? You may not be mine anymore but I still get to sleep next to you," he laughed. "You still honor me that."

"I'll never be able to thank you for coming out here with me. I couldn't do it alone."

"Hush. No thanks. I want no thanks."

"Then what do you want?"

"To see that smile on your face...when I tell you I've found her."

"Ah geez, I know you do but I don't think-"

"Haven't you been listening? ...Edward. My eternal love. ...I found her. That's what _Giselle_ means. That's what it is. Look." Alex dug into the back pocket of his trousers and chucked the balled up poster he'd ripped off the theater window at Edward who unfolded it with care.

_**Shaftesbury Avenue, The Saville Theater**_

_The Saville Theater is pleased to announce it's inaugural performance of **Giselle**, a ballet in two acts with a libretto by Jules-Henri Vernoy de Saint-Georges and Théophile Gautier, music by Adolphe Adam, and choreography by Jean Coralli and Jules Perrot._

_The role of Giselle, one of the most sought-after in ballet, demands both technical perfection and outstanding grace and lyricism, and has in the past been played by Carlotta Grisi (for whom Théophile Gautier created the role), Anna Pavlova, Tamara Karsavina, Natalia Makarova, Irina Kolpakova, and now by...**Isabella Swan**._

_The ballet tells the story of a peasant girl named Giselle whose ghost, after her premature death, protects her lover from the vengeance of a group of evil female spirits._

* * *

**For those who want to give me grief, yes The Saville Theater didn't open until 1931, but I'm using it anyway. This entire story is a fake so what difference does it make? :D I thank Wiki for helping me with the rest.**


	44. The tide has turned

_I look around me_  
_And feel you are ever so close to me_  
_Each tear that flows from my eye_  
_Brings back memories of you to me_

_Sia - I Go to Sleep_

**Dancers are not great because of their talent...they are great because of their passion. -Unknown **

"Oi, Cullen! It's closing time. We're counted out. You're free to go, mate."

"Thanks, Nate," Edward answered distantly, his chapped fingers gently pressing the yellowed keys. Presently he was sitting at a dusty upright piano that lived pushed against the back wall of the pub. Seldom used, virtually discarded and forgotten, it's main purpose had become that of a beer coaster. That is until Edward began working at Nathan's Bleeding Heart Tavern. Each night after the bar had been cleared and cleaned, the chairs turned over, the floor swept, the dish rack emptied, Edward would dry his hands, hang his apron and excuse himself to spend some time with the aged beauty in the back.

This night in particular, after Nathan had counted out the till, he sauntered to the back and listened intently for a few moments to Edward playing.

"You write that yourself?" he asked, leaning against the wall and digging a crushed pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

"Um no," Edward chuckled half-heartedly. "I wish I did though. It's from Swan Lake."

"From who?"

"Swan Lake," Edward repeated to which he was met with a blank stare. "The ballet? You know...Tchaikovsky? That's the name of the man who wrote it."

"Never heard of it, mate. But it sounds brilliant. You play like you know what you're doing," he laughed, lighting up a cigarette and offering one to Edward. Edward politely declined. He was in a maudlin mood.

"Yeah well, I used to be a pianist...a proper one...at this ballet studio in..." he stopped short, not wanting to give away too much information about himself. "Anyway, that didn't work out. I haven't played since."

Nathan was quiet for awhile, silently puffing away on his cigarette until he stubbed it out on his heel.

"I know this bloke who manages a nightclub, eh it's more like a lounge. They get the artsy-fartsy crowd. A higher wage than I can give and bigger tips. And they have a much better example than this old girl here. Don't get me wrong, I'd hate to lose you but I could put in a good word in for ya. Get you outta dish duty and back to doing something you obviously love, yeah?"

Edward was overcome. _Back to playing the piano again?_ It was too good to be true.

"That, um – that would be great, Nathan, thank you."

And that's what happened. In the blink of an eye Edward said goodbye to The Bleeding Heart and hello to the West End.

**oOo**

It was the first day without rain in a fortnight.

Edward's new gig was at a joint called Foundation; also known as London's worst kept secret. It was a hangout for upscale professionals, businessmen, and would be artist types. At any one time a mix of languages could be heard spoken from all four corners of the room, but Edward kept to himself, tucked into the baby grand by the staircase. He'd worked six days straight to an overflowing tip jar at the end of each night. He'd barely seen Alex for longer than five minutes a day. _Giselle_ was in previews the previous week and had opened to the public two nights ago.

Today Edward had the day off. A day off. Wow, he was big time now. _Fancy_, he chuckled to himself. _Whatever shall I do with my one day off?_

He began by cleaning up the flat. Yes, it was a hole in the wall, but it was their home and Edward hated a mess. He swept the floor, made the bed, borrowed detergent from a neighbor down the hall and scrubbed their musty socks and shirts in the sink then hung them to dry over a line strung across the window. There was a breeze today. It was nice.

Then he counted his money, separating the coins from the bills from the folded up phone numbers. Ahh, the creative propositions he'd received the past few days. Offers from heiresses and wives of aristocrats. They'd take care of him. _You wouldn't have a care in the world. Come with me, gorgeous boy. Bend me. Be my personal pet_. Edward had to admit it was tempting. This life of poverty, it was grating on the soul. But no, there was an infinitely more appealing prize at the end of all this. His struggle. Isabella.

He'd made a decent sum, enough to keep up the rent for a few more weeks and eat something besides bread and jam. With a tiny smile on his face he put on his coat and went to the chemist down the block where he purchased two bars of soap, a small tin of cotton swabs, and a few mint lozenges to share with Alex when he got home from wherever he was. With a washcloth he stood naked in front of the sink and soaped his stressed body from head to toe. He ran the wet cloth down his chest, over his flat stomach and between his legs. He rinsed and started again, this time squeezing the cloth at the base of his neck so the foamy water could run over his shoulder blades, down his spine and through to the crack of his perfect round ass. He sighed. It felt good to be clean. He clipped his finger and toenails with a tiny scissor Tanya had given him. _Feel free to stab Alex with it if he gets out of hand_, she'd urged. He smiled, thinking of his friends while he dressed in a thin, white button down and grey woolen trousers. They were Alex's trousers but the only clean clothes left at the moment until the ones he'd washed were dry. They were big on Edward and hung low on his waist. Alex got most of his clothes from the mission, where choosing your size is not an option.

He splashed water on his face and ran his wet hands through his unruly hair.

Warm and dry and dressed in clean clothes, Edward plopped on the bed with a loud cathartic sigh.

The sun was beginning to dip down below the horizon. The tone of the day was about to change.

"That Isabella Swan," Alex sighed as he shrugged out of his long black topcoat and hung it on a nail. "She is still one hot little ticket, I tell you what. From what I remember, and we both now I have an excellent memory, she's still firm in all the right places -"

Edward, who until that very moment had been sitting on the bed with a scrap of parchment and charcoal nub attempting to delicately compose a letter back home to Moscow, leapt from the bed and darted into Alex's personal space.

"You saw her? ...Alex?"

"Have you had a wash? You smell divine."

"Answer me!"

"I will as soon as you get your pristine hands off of my obscenely expensive suit collar."

"Sorry." Edward let go and stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets.

"Ahem." Alex smugly brushed nonexistent dirt from his lapel and straightened his tie. "Yes, I saw her. Though I still haven't been able to finagle my way inside that damned elitist lion's den." He sneered in irritation. "Those pesky tickets are the hardest ever to come by. _But,_ after hours of extensive stalking around the theater's perimeter, I have managed to find the performer entrance and, lo and behold, patience is a virtue Edward Cullen, for if you hide in the shadows and stare at the door long enough, it opens!"

Edward paced violent circles in the worn, wooden floorboards, thrusting his hands into his hair, pulling and twisting the damp auburn strands. Alex continued with the story, the patter of his heartbeat increasing as he watched Edward process this new information.

...

_Fantastic show! Wonderful performance! Brilliant, simply brilliant! Stunning!_

"_Well, Romanoff, you've done it again!"_

"_Demetri, it was a spectacular evening!"_

_"Divine."_

"_Marvelous indeed!"_

"_Sell out crowd, Romanoff. Every seat in the house and we're booked to the gills for the remainder of the run."_

_"And that ballerina, Isabella Swan. A showstopper!"_

_"A star!"_

_..._

"Miss Swan? These are for you."

"Put them over there with the others."

Flowers, flowers, and more fucking flowers. Their beauty, though exquisite, was lost on her. Their smell was sharp and severe and made her head ache.

Another knock on her dressing room door. Another bouquet. _Over there with the others_.

"Oh my, look at all these beautiful flowers! Aren't they beautiful, dear?"

"Yes."

"And some of them arrived with _chocolates_," Charlotte buzzed, helping Isabella out of her costume. Isabella lifted her arms mechanically. "Did you see that some of them have chocolates?" Charlotte beamed. She was clearly overwhelmed; intoxicated by the excitement of the evening.

"Yes I saw."

"I wonder what kind. Ooh I wonder if they're _Swiss chocolates_! Oh my, imagine that? _Swiss_? I've never had Swiss chocolate before but I imagine they're just _divine_."

"You can have them."

"I – I beg your pardon, Miss Swan?"

"You can have the chocolates. Take them. All of them."

The reviews for _Giselle_ had been nothing short of stellar. Isabella wasn't surprised in the slightest. _As they should be_, she thought to herself. She'd never worked harder on a show in her entire career as a dancer. Not because she cared. In fact she was entirely indifferent to the routine, the storyline, the other performers in the show, of which there were several well known names. To her it was merely a distraction of the utmost importance. A drug that she took daily and in large doses. It numbed but it did not heal. It was serious business and she treated it as such.

In many ways her life returned to the way it had been before she'd ever met the stunning creature Edward Cullen. She had a private instructor, a state of the art dance facility at her disposal, gourmet meals, decadent surroundings, the finest clothes, an array of priceless jewels. And just like before, she was completely empty on the inside. Her musical accompanists were the best money could buy; schooled at universities and institutes of the highest caliber; they played for and taught only the most elite performers around the world. And as far as she was concerned, they too were dead inside. Music would never be their passion, their reason for living. She could see it in their eyes. She knew what the look was, and they didn't possess it. They were talented, for sure, but their love of the art had dissipated long ago, replaced with the love of money and status. Only one man. There was only one man who possessed the qualities of a true artist...lover...person...man. There'd never be anyone like...

Edward.

If she thought about him for too long, she'd weep. In the those first few days after she'd left Moscow with Demetri, she could not recall a single moment where she was not in some form of hysterical tearful state. So intense was her bereavement that Demetri gave her the entire top floor of the house he'd bought on the outskirts of the city so as not to be subjected to her mood swings. And there she remained when she was not dancing or hanging from Demetri's arm at some characterless society function.

"Excuse me. Miss Swan?"

"Hmm?"

"It's time."

The haze was slow to lift. She felt a hand on her arm.

"We've got to go, Miss Swan. It's time to leave the theater. The car is waiting to take you to the afterparty."

...

"So I hung round the back of the building, doing my best not to look too handsome and out of place, until finally the cars started pulling up. That's when I knew the performance had ended. People started pouring out of the exits. Most of them left straight away but many of them stayed behind waiting for the stars to come out. .._.I_ should have been in there. Not waiting on the sidewalk like a commoner."

"But you _are_ a commoner, Alex," Edward chuckled.

"That's not what this suit says, sweetheart," Alex barked back. "Mark my words, I'm getting into that show if it kills me."

"Ok ok , but for now you're on the sidewalk. The crowd is filing out. Yes, then what happened?"

...

_Here they come! There she is! That's her! Isabella! Miss Swan! Over here! Look this way! At this camera, Isabella! _

"_If you wouldn't mind signing these playbills for the charity auction, Miss Swan."_

"_A few photos with the Board of Trustees. This way please."_

A whirlwind of photos and signatures and sound bites and compliments as Isabella was whisked through the corridors leading to the underbelly of the theater and out the back exit. She pulled her fur tightly around her shoulders and held her head up high. Dark red lips. Dark brown hair curled and pinned off her porcelain face. Tight skirt cinched at her knees. Beige hose. Navy blue heels. With a superior air she strutted right through the circus and out the heavy double doors into the cool night. More flashbulbs. This time the praise was screaming for her, at her. She flinched, wishing she'd worn her thick dark sunglasses. Her composure started to unravel.

_Isabella! Over here! Miss Swan! Please! Look over here! _

Someone had her elbow and was guiding her through the crowd.

_Isabella, you were wonderful! Brilliant! Beautiful! Can I have your autograph! A photo! Please!_

She stopped every few people and gave in to their requests. The car was in sight. _Not much longer_, she told herself. _Hold on_. She was usually much better at this part of the job. She used to revel in the attention lavished upon her by her rabid fans. But she was shaking. Something was happening. She could feel it. And then it did.

There was a commotion in the crowd. Off to the side in her periphery.

_Miss Swan! Over here! Look at this camera please! _

A flashbulb went off in her face, blinding her for a split second. More sounds of scuffle and then a voice that stood out among all the others.

"Isabella Swan! Look at me! _Edward Cullen loves you_!"

...

_"YOU DID WHAT?_"

Alex braced himself against the wall and doubled over with laughter at Edward's reaction - a mixture of stunned elation, disbelief, and blind rage. He slid to the floor hugging his knees to his chest.

"You called out_ my name_?" Edward massaged his temples in an effort to regroup. "What were you thinking? You're crazy, you know that?"

"It's the first thing that came to mind."

"Did she stop?"

"She did. Which means she heard me. You're welcome."

"Did she see you?"

"Not sure. She was ushered into a car with blacked out windows."

"Did anyone else see you? Guards? Security? Anyone from that night at the warehouse?"

"Relax, I didn't blow my cover. It was so noisy on the streets that I knew it would take something like your name to get her to turn. It was subtle. She knows my voice. It worked. She knows something's up."

"I've got to see her. I'm going with you next time."

"That would be fantastically unwise."

"Unwise? So just, what? Do _nothing_ now that we've found her!"

"_I_ found her."

"Fine whatever, what now? We've never talked about what we would do once we found her."

"_I_ found her."

"Ugh Christ, yes _you_ found her, okay? _Thank you,_ Alexander. Thank you for finding her. I love you. I'm indebted to you. I'll never be able to thank you enough. Here, allow me to get on my hands and...ok forget I said that..."

Alex raised an eyebrow but let the comment go. "The show is scheduled for a twelve week run that will probably be extended if tonight's turnout is any indication. That gives us plenty of time."

"Plenty of time to what? Christ, she's down the fucking street!" Edward punched blindly at the wall. "I should just get her myself."

"And get yourself killed in the process!" Alex blocked the door. Edward shoved him hard but Alex didn't budge. He would fight him if he had to. He would put him in a chokehold and pin him to the ground. Fuck it, he'd break his arm if it kept him in the room. There was no way he was letting Edward go.

"If I knew you were going to act like this I wouldn't have fucking told you! Now calm down! Get control of yourself. Remember where we are and who you are. You can't go charging in there like some mad rhino. You said it yourself. We don't have a plan. Well, let's make one. She's not going anywhere."

* * *

**I hope it's apparent now why I "created' the character of Alex and kept him around this long. ****I wanted someone unrelated to any already existing Twilight character and free from pre-existing behaviors or traits, so I could do what I want with him and there would be no "that's not what _ would do" etc etc.**


	45. The flame

_Greater men_  
_Have made it here_  
_Only to turn back_  
_So cut me loose_  
_If you want_  
_Or tighten up the slack_

_ - The Flame_, The Black Keys

**"Many other women kicked higher, balanced longer, or turned faster. These are poor substitutes for passion." -Agnes de Mille**

Isabella's warm hand found its way up her thigh and between her parted legs. Spreading her moist lips with her fingers she closed her eyes and thought about Edward. How he used to spend hours wrapped inside them. How he played with her using his skilled tongue and fingers. How he brought her climax after climax; the throes of unimaginable pleasure. How her effect on him was just as powerful and how he wasn't shy to make it known.

"_Touch me," he'd whimper, arching his back off the mattress. He hissed as her hand wrapped around his hard sizzling shaft. "See what you do to me?" he moaned. "Fuck I can't take it. It's too much. You – you..." he writhed as she pumped his aching length. _

He was exquisite. She could remember vividly every striation of lean muscle lining his body and every angle and contour of the skin that stretched over it; the bend of his knee, the shadow in the concave of his stomach, the dip in the small of his back, the two dimples, one on either side above his perfect ass.

And his face (she was close now, fingering herself the way he used to); just one look from those jade eyes, the power his delicate lips held as they trailed over her heated flesh. And the words that passed through them...

"_I'm close. So Close. Come for me, Isabella. Please, baby. That's right, god you feel too good to be true, come for me."_

They climaxed together every time they made love. She didn't think it was possible to orgasm with a man, even though she'd only had one partner other than Edward. It was with Edward that she'd had her first orgasm. At first she thought something was wrong. There was an unfamiliar tightness in her belly that kept building as they moved and as he continued to thrust inside her. She felt lightheaded and tingly all over and then there was an _explosion _and a rush of adrenaline and a surge of pleasure she didn't know existed. Sounds she'd never made before flew uncensored from her open mouth. And it kept going for minutes, her body shuddering and convulsing and she was powerless to stop it; she didn't want to stop it. Quite the opposite – she never wanted the feeling to end. Edward kissed her sweetly. He knew what had just happened. _ I felt that,_ he murmured gazing down at her lovingly. _What was that?_ she asked still attempting to catch her breath. _That, my darling, was the point,_ Edward smiled and she realized he was still hard inside her. _Will it feel like that for you? When you...? Will it be as amazing?_ She doubted it could ever be that good for anyone. She was wrong. _Let's find out,_ he growled.

She thought she'd never see him again. She had resigned herself to that fact the night in the warehouse. Any heartache she felt at losing him was soothed in the knowing that he would be safe, that he would live a long life, that he would play music and know love and have children and watch them grow. Any jealousy she felt at not being the one to bear his children and raise his family she replaced with gratitude for the short time they had together. It would always be the best time of her life.

Then one ordinary night in the life of a prima ballerina, one that unfolded like all the others, quickly derailed. She recognized the voice from the crowd that stood out from all the others. Of course she did. The voice that had taunted and teased her for weeks and months, that talked dirty to her and then walked away, that made crude comments in the hall, that remarked on the shape of her ass, the curve of her spine and the juncture of her legs where her fingers now played. She was only able to turn briefly towards the sound. She couldn't make a scene. She couldn't run to Alex in his dapper suit and beg him to tell her more. She could barely acknowledge that she'd heard him at all. The faintest of glances passed between them, or so she thought. Anything more would be too dangerous. She couldn't linger. The car door opened and she slid inside.

She didn't look out the window. As the car pulled away, she silently prayed she would hear that voice again tomorrow.

...

It was a brisk evening and Alex's nose was running. He'd been fighting off a cold, drank too much to kill the pain and overslept. The doors opened just as he reached the theater. He waited while the audience filed out of yet another sold out performance and followed the ones that went around the block to the back entrance.

She walked quickly, like last time, smiling and posing, doing her best to appease the screaming throng. Their voices blended together into one chorus chanting her name. Her eyes darted over their meaningless faces searching for his. _He's not coming back_, she thought as she smiled for the cameras. Then out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed that same dark hair desperate for a trim, that same smirking face. Casually she made her way to the other side of the crowd, forcing herself not to look towards him. She would reach him eventually. _Be patient._ She signed and smiled without looking up. There was a break in the flow and that's when she knew. She took a deep breath and looked up, their eyes briefly meeting, silently confirming the others existence. _He'd found her_. She looked down at his hands. They were empty. He had nothing for her to sign, no flowers to attempt to give her. For the first time in his life he was at a loss for even the simplest word or turn of sarcastic phrase. Seconds clicked off like hours. Ravenous fans pushed and pleaded for her to notice them. She began to panic. If he didn't do something fast the moment would be lost forever. She had to move on or it would draw attention. A look of desperation passed over her face. She held out her gloved hands. _Please Alex. Do something. Put something in my hand. Find something for me to sign. Anything. Hurry. _ Amidst the chaos a playbill in a child's hand caught his eye. The child's parents were too busy desperately waving playbills of their own in Isabella's face. _Fuck it_, he thought, snatching the child's away without remorse. She scribbled across the front, pushed it back and without a word moved on down the line.

He glanced quickly and then pressed the playbill to his chest before anyone could look over his shoulder at what she'd written.

_Tell him I love him_

...

He plucked a discarded playbill out of the trash this time and jotted down a little note of his own as he trotted back to the theater. Moments later he took his position in line and when she reached him he thrust it under her nose.

_Tell him yourself_

She scribbled her pen through his words and shoved the playbill at him before moving on.

_I can't_

He clenched it in his fist. Fury surged through his veins. He crushed it and let it fall to the pavement.

_You pathetic fucking coward._ His eyes saw red and behind the red was Edward's hopeful, beautiful face waiting for him in their miserable flat.

_Any news? Did you give her my message? __And what did she say?_

_Nothing. She won't fight._

No. He wasn't going to do that. She wasn't going to force him to face the disappointment in Edward's eyes. He wriggled and fought his way to the back of the crowd, out and around and down the short distance to the waiting cars he followed with Isabella in his sights. He'd found his voice and she was going to listen.

He pushed his way to the end of the line and stood there, uncomfortably pressed against the barricade, while Isabella slowly approached - her face partially hidden by a ridiculous hat.

The following exchange occurred in rapid succession as Isabella hurriedly greeted the last few fans into which Alex had inserted himself.

_Miss Swan! Miss Swan! Over here! Please! Isabella!_

"He came for you_,_" Alex snarled over the desperate begging.

"I told him not to," she replied without emotion.

"Yeah well he didn't listen."

She continued to sign without response. Alex raised his voice loud enough to be heard but not enough to draw attention.

"I will _haunt _you, Isabella," he seethed. "Do you understand me? I will be here every night waiting for you. If you move to a different city, I'll be there too. I will hunt you down. I will find where you live. I'll be around every corner, in every alley. You can surround yourself with guards if you choose but I will find a way. I'll poison their supper. I'll get to you. I'm very resourceful, I think you already know that. There is no end to what I will do for Edward. Do not test me."

She believed him. Her eyes drifted to her left where three large man dressed in black trenchcoats flanked the perimeter; their eyes everywhere surveying the crowd.

"It's too dangerous."

"_Spineless_. Good thing I didn't pass on your bullshit message. You're a fucking liar."

_"I'm not_," she hissed. "I do love him."

"Prove it." And with that he pushed off the barricade, shoving to the ground whoever had been rudely leaning on him the entire time.

"See you tomorrow, Miss Swan. It's a matinée, right?"

...

True to his word Alex stood in line the very next day prepared to unleash another verbal attack on the stubborn Miss Swan. He'd been unable to sleep the night before. His mind wouldn't shut down. It kept replaying the scene over and over with the same infuriating outcome. He'd never struck a woman but oh how he wanted to throttle Isabella Swan. No female deserved to be shaken more than she. The more he thought about it the more enraged he became, the more restless, the more he tossed and turned in bed until Edward stirred. Alex looked down at the man sleeping beside him and once again vowed that, even if it killed him, he would fulfill his duty. He owed it to Edward, and even though Edward would put up a fuss and say no he didn't, Alex knew damn well he did. There was no longer anything in this mission for him. There was no payoff other than Edward's happiness. Yes spending time with Edward, sharing close quarters, watching him change and bathe, these things Alex selfishly enjoyed, but there would be no ultimate reward for him. There was only loyalty. And friendship. And, most of all, penance.

_Here she comes! It's her! Miss Swan! Isabella! Over here!_

The matinee crowd was smaller but just as demanding. Alex stood his ground. He had nothing for her to sign today. All he wanted was her answer. That she would agree to meet Edward. A head nod in the affirmative would do and he would stand out here until the show closed to get it.

She was wearing another ridiculous outfit today. _What is with women's fashion in this city?_ he wondered. He much preferred what the girls at the artist house wore. _Poor folk fashion_, he snickered to himself.

Again she gave him those doe eyes filled with pleading desperation as they looked upon his empty hands. She had wanted to write something down but the moment passed. She was gone, shuffled down the aisle by some strong-armed servant girl. Alex fumed and pushed his way through the crowd to the end of the line, snatching a newspaper out of an unsuspecting theater-goers hands as he went.

He shoved the paper at her and waited while she registered what he was doing. Then she scribbled on it without making eye contact, pushed it back at him without a word and rushed along to the line of waiting cars. Alex didn't watch her go. He was too busy trying to decipher what the fuck she'd just written.

...

"I think it says,_ I'm a cunt_," Alex snorted, tossing the paper on the bed. "Seriously, she is one stuck up feline. I don't think you're gonna like her anymore."

"She's playing a part, Al. She did the same thing to me at the dance studio. It's not the real her, you know that."

"Whatever. The real her is a pain in my ball sack."

Edward laughed and picked up the paper. Just seeing her handwriting made his heart skip a beat. "These are numbers. _1500_. That's a time. _14/4_. That's a date. The fourteenth of April."

"That's day after tomorrow," Alex mumbled, his head under a pillow.

"And I think the rest of it says..._Cringle Street_?" His heart was seriously exploding in his chest. "Cringle Street day after tomorrow at five in the evening."

"Ace, Eddie, that's ace. One problem. Where the fuck is Cringle Street?"

...

They walked the six miles from Tower Bridge to Battersea Park, every now and then looking down to check the childish map the gent at the local pub had drawn for them.

_Follow the Thames to Chelsea Bridge Road, under the railway, left down Kirtling Street to the junction of Cringle Road._

The wind lapped across their faces. They walked without talking. Alex took sideways glances at Edward who, other than having a nauseated look about him, was the same gorgeous creature Alex had fallen in love with years ago. Same fair skin and chiseled features, same bright eyes, same thick hair; tall, strong Edward.

"We're here. This is where the directions end." Edward pivoted in place and observed their surroundings. Gulls circled overhead. A pungent smell filled the air.

"This is a fucking dump," Alex sneered, turning up his nose in disgust. "This is where she chose to meet you?"

"It's not that bad, Al."

"No I mean it's an actual dump." Alex pointed into the setting sun at a battered sign that read _Cringle Dock_. And underneath that..._Waste Facility_.

"This is where they take out the trash," he added with a tint of fear in his voice. _Oh my God, that fucking bitch_. "Edward. I think we're being set up."

"Calm down. It's fine." But inside he felt the nagging pang of doubt. They were definitely in the vicinity of a dumping station. Barren dead land, lifeless swaying trees. _No. No. It couldn't be._

"This has _set up_ written all over it, my dear lovesick friend," Alex warned, the panic rising. "She's luring us into a trap. I knew it! That viper! She's been brainwashed, Eddie. Come on, we've got to get out of here!"

"No!" he barked, pushing Alex's hand from his arm. "We're not leaving. Not yet. Just wait." Edward stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked cautiously towards a high fence separating the dirt path from god knows what.

"Wait for what? To be ambushed? She brought us to them! Can't you see that? We fucking fell for it, Edward, and if we -"

_"Shut up!_ Just shut up and let me think!"

Alex threw up his hands in frustration and started back the way they came. He hadn't gone more than ten steps before he caught sight of a black sedan in the distance. It was hurtling towards them. Alex froze in place, his mouth agape. _ Edward. Run._ No sound. Frozen. The car was getting closer. _Edward. Run. They're here. Run._ It kicked up plumes of dust in its wake. Disappeared around a mound. Reappeared ten feet closer. It sped down the dirt path and Alex's flight instinct kicked in.

"_Edward!_" he cried out, sprinting full speed down the lane. "_RUN! MOVE!_" He flung himself at Edward with all of his strength and dragged him up the hill. The stench was unbearable. They ducked behind an abandoned clapboard hut with a sign that said _Open 24 Hours_.

The car skidded to a halt some sixty feet from where Alex had stood and remained there with the engine idling.

"Here we are, Miss Swan. Whenever you're ready."

"Thank you, Max."

"You have thirty minutes before you're expected at the theater."

"Thank you." Her hand reached shakily for the door handle. "Do you see him?"

"He's just up that hill, behind that small building. He was pulled there by another man who ran as soon as he saw us coming."

Isabella did her best to hide her smile. _ Alex._ She knew Alex wouldn't let Edward come out here alone. _Because he doesn't trust me_. Her smile turned to a frown. It made sense.

"He thinks we're here to hurt them."

"Pardon? Who does?" Max asked sincerely.

"If I know Alex, he thinks that I've set them up to be killed. I should have known he'd take it that way as soon as he saw this place." She sighed deeply. "I didn't know where else to go. Can't say I blame him. I've done nothing to deserve his trust."

"Have you not? Forgive me, but didn't you run away and hide with them in secrecy for months before giving yourself up? All without ever divulging their whereabouts no matter how badly you were beaten once you returned?"

Isabella stared quietly out the window. "It doesn't matter."

"What's happening?" Edward asked from behind Alex's shoulder.

"Nothing. The car's just sitting there."

"So we keep waiting up here? What if more cars show up and thugs start scouring the area? Where are we going to hide then?"

Alex chewed the corner of his mouth. "Maybe it'll be dark by then..."

Edward groaned and slumped against the rotted wall. "This isn't how it's supposed to end. She wouldn't do this. There's got to be -"

"Shhh!" Alex hissed. "The door's opening."

Isabella checked her reflection in the side view mirror and pushed on the door handle.

"You look lovely, Miss Swan," Max assured her with a nod.

"Thank you again, Max. For all you've done for me over the years, and for this most of all."

"What's happening now?" Edward insisted, craning his neck for a better look. Alex held him out of view with his arm.

"The door's open but there's no - wait, I see a foot..." Alex squinted through a filmy pane of glass. "I can't really tell...oh shit..."

"_What?_"

"It's her."

"_Edward?_" Isabella called out into the open air. She held her hand up over her eyes to shield them from the setting sun.

"Oh god," Edward gasped, his sweaty hands gripping the side of the building. "She's still so beautiful."

"Don't trust her. You don't know who else is in the car."

"_Edward? It's ok, you can come down._"

Edward stood to move from their hiding spot but Alex grabbed his arm.

"No," he warned. "Don't do it. It's a trap. She's a pawn. You'll go down there and be shot or -"

"_Edward, it's safe_. _There isn't much time_."

"Don't. Edward, please," Alex begged. There was real fear in his eyes. _I can't lose you. I won't know what to do._

"I have to, Alex. This is why we're here. It will be alright. I promise."

_Where is he?_ Isabella paced awkwardly between the dilapidated buildings and stacked rusted barrels. _What happens here?_ she wondered. All she knew was that they passed Cringle Street Dock on the way to the theater each day. Max assured her it was the safest place to meet Edward without being found out. The pungent odor of decay filled her nostrils and stung her eyes. The low heels of her red silk shoes pressed shapes in the mud. She was about to return to the car when she heard a rustle in the brush. Her breathing stopped. Her heart pounded. Her skin prickled. She wet her lips and turned.

"Hello."

"...Edward..."

**oOo**

They'd walked to a clearing free of debris and found a bench next to a small stream where they now sat. Their reunion had been awkward at first. No storybook embrace. No tears. No shrieks of delight. Instead they stood three feet apart and stared at each other while Alex watched from his perch on the hill.

_What the hell are they doing?_ Alex muttered under his breath. _Kiss her for Christ sake! Hold her! Take her against the fence and fuck her brains out!_

"Walk with me?" Edward asked softly. Isabella nodded and together they headed north away from the hill. They looked straight ahead as if they were on a blind date. As if they'd never met a member of the opposite sex before in all their lives. It was torture with only the gulls overhead providing sound. A hundred ways to begin a sentence filled Edward's head but none of them found their way to his mouth. Dozens of romantic gestures crossed Isabella's mind but she couldn't find the nerve to act of any of them.

It was just as Edward feared.

They'd become strangers.

"Thank you for meeting me," Edward said after they finally sat. "It must have been dangerous for you to come out here."

Isabella nodded and replied curtly without looking at him. "I don't have much time."

Edward concentrated on the horizon and did his best not to be hurt by her reaction, although he shouldn't be surprised. Let's face it, none of this was going as planned. He still felt the same electricity the moment he set eyes on her. But perhaps she hadn't felt it back. Had she lost interest? Fallen out of love with him? Become interested in someone else? If that was the case, he'd understand. He wouldn't pressure her or try to get her to change her mind.

He held out his hand to brush a strand of hair from her face. "Isabella -"

She stood abruptly and walked to the water's edge and that's when Edward knew. This was a mistake. He'd interfered and been crushed. Alex was right. She'd changed. If he left now he could concentrate on putting on one foot in front of the other until she was out of sight and he was out of this vile place. He thought he heard Alex coughing in the distance.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you, Miss Swan. I'll go now and you can get back to your car." He rose slowly and then with more urgency. He found his way to the edge of the clearing where the light was the least and he wouldn't be tempted to turn around. She was still beautiful, though. He would always think of her that way on the inside as well. He wasn't angry. He'd leave that to Alex.

"Edward, wait!"

There was no time to respond or react. She was already at him and throwing herself into his arms; sobbing, clawing in between kissing and begging him not to leave.

"I'm sorry," she kissed. "I'm so sorry, oh god Edward," she kissed desperately. "I'm so so sorry, please, don't go please, I'm sorry -"

"Alright alright, I believe you," he chuckled, catching as many of her kisses as he could as she ravenously peppered them across his face and lips and neck. His taste, his smell, it was all the same yet even more intense than she remembered and dreamt about and he was here in the flesh and alive and healthy with pink cheeks and red lips and her insides became those of a caged woman possessed and then set free.

"Forgive my coldness, please forgive me, I still don't know how to act around you and it's been so long and my feelings are still so strong, I didn't expect them to be - " She pulled on his shoulders in attempt to lift herself into his arms. Anyone looking on the scene from afar might think a poor young man was being sexually assaulted in a field.

"Isabella, please, really, it's alright." He humored her hysteria by petting her head and trying to soothe her down so they could talk but she was relentless. Her tongue in his mouth and then licking down his neck. Her hands clawing his back and then diving between his legs.

"Don't leave, please stay, just a few more minutes, I only have a few more minutes. Kiss me." And of course he obliged. He grounded her with his touch and she relaxed in his arms. Her fears melted as her senses, long dormant, lit up. When they finally broke for air, Edward took her hand and led her back to the bench.

...

"I can't believe you came for me."

"You knew I would."

She smiled and folded her hands in her lap. "I suppose you're right. I guess what I can't believe is that you found me."

"Alex did it. He spent every day looking for you. While I was at work he was out combing the streets."

She nodded in silent understanding.

"You look the same. I was worried...they'd hurt you so badly that...I thought..." her eyes welled up for the tenth time in as many minutes. "...you'd have scars or be...but you don't, you're not, you're still..." She dabbed at her eyes while she struggled for words. "...the most handsome man."

"Thanks," he blushed. "You probably recognize these clothes." He pulled nervously at his button up shirt. His black trousers were one of the two pair he owned. In her eyes he was perfect. She bit her lip in disbelief. He had to be a dream.

"Tell me everything."

"You'll be late."

"Tell me anyway."

He went on to tell her about slinging dishes in the tavern and how that lead to playing piano in the West End. She watched enraptured as he described the flat he and Alex shared; the cold nights and bright mornings where he lived on the edge of madness for any news of her whereabouts. She laughed as he recounted their tiffs and arguments, remembering how sweet they were together. A blade of longing sliced through her sternum.

"God how I've missed you," she sighed, looking off in the direction of the Thames. "I miss you all. Alice, Tanya, Jake. ...Even Alex."

"Wow you _must_ be lonely," Edward joked, nudging her playfully with his shoulder. It felt good to be friendly again.

"He's watching out for you even now, isn't he?" Isabella asked, her eyes wandering.

"Yes."

"He hates me."

"Eh," Edward shrugged. "He thinks you betrayed me. He'll get over it. What's important is that you're here. You came. You still love me."

"I do."

"You still want to be with me."

"I do."

"Forever."

"Yes."

Edward's smile was brighter than the moon. "That's good." He wanted to address the elephant in the room - what happens now? - and was about to just come out and lamely ask when she cut him off.

"He barely speaks to me anymore." She didn't need to say his name. They both knew who she was referring to. "He doesn't touch me. He hasn't for months. I'm merely fastened to his arm like a corsage whenever we're in public. He's got other girls on the side. I know he does, I've seen him with them at parties. I'm supposed to think they're the wives of his associates, and they probably are. I don't care who he's sleeping with as long as it's not me."

"How did you manage to sneak away today?"

"It wasn't easy. I'm surrounded by guards everywhere I go. Since he's not with me nearly as much as he used to be, Demetri makes sure I'm covered at all times. He's put me up in the top floor of his manor with a flurry of chambermaids who are supposed to cater to my every need but who I know are merely there to keep an eye on me. Make sure I don't slit my wrists or shimmy down the drainpipe. A guard stands outside my chamber door and one is stationed on every floor of the house. Should I want to go for a walk in the garden, I am followed outside and watched from all sides. It's the same when I go to rehearsal or to the theater. They're everywhere, watching. The car is the one place I'm not accompanied by a guard. Only Max, my driver. Demetri figures I'm not going to jump out of a moving vehicle, although I may have thought about it. Plus the doors lock from the inside so I can only get out if Max lets me. He's thought of everything, no?" Isabella smirked sardonically.

Edward was appalled. "You're a fucking prisoner."

"In a way I suppose I am."

"You _suppose_?" he repeated incredulously. "You're being held captive against your will. Is there another way to look at it?"

"Sometimes it feels that way. Other times, if I imagine they're not there, it's as though I'm taking a stroll on my own or shopping by myself. And I'm not entirely confined. I can go to Paris or Spain or Amsterdam at the drop of a hat. I merely have to tell him I want to go and he'll take me. I doubt many prisoners in the Bastille could have said the same."

"You're making jokes."

"It's either that or cry all the time."

"Come home with me. Back to Moscow."

"Edward -" She shook her head sadly. "There's no way -"

He took her in his arms and kissed her rosy cheek. "Listen to me. We can make this work."

She pulled away but left her hands in his. "Edward, please. You're well. I'm well. Everyone we love is safe and will remain that way. That's leave it at that. This could have ended so much worse for all of us."

"But you don't want to be with him!" he cried in frustration.

"You're right. I don't. I want to be with you. I'll always want that."

"Then leave with me! Right now. Let's run away and make a new life together. Isabella, I came all this way to get you back. Now you're here and I'm going to lose you again? No! I won't!"

"There's no other way. That night in the warehouse was child's play compared to what will happen if they find out you're here. It will be worse if they find me gone. Demetri will know the cause and everyone will be put in jeopardy. Rosalie, Emmett, the baby, all your friends. Edward, he'll kill them. Even if it doesn't bring me back, he'll do it just because he can. ...It won't work."

"Then why did you come? Why agree to see me?"

"Alex is very persistent. And I wanted to see you."

"To say good-bye."

"If I could think of another way, you know I would. I'd do anything if it meant only risking my own life. I would die to be with you but I couldn't live knowing you had done the same. I can't live in a world where you don't exist."

A car horn blared in the distance and Isabella jumped like a startled fawn.

"That's your cue," Edward stated blankly. He stood and put his hands in his pockets. You can only beat a man so much before he goes numb.

"_Edward_ -" she pleaded. "You're breaking my heart_._"

He crushed his eyelids closed and whispered, "Just go."

When he opened them, she was gone.

...

"Well? What happened?" Alex slid down the rocky hill and jogged to Edward's side. "It felt like you were gone for hours, and then out she came. She was running and crying and the car sped off and...Ah, I see...okay, so...it didn't go well. Right. She's gone, you're still here, you look like someone just removed your testicles..."

Edward stopped in his tracks and stood frozen to the spot where the car had been only moments ago. The ground was still warm from the exhaust. Alex slipped his fingers through Edward's and gave them a tug. Edward's ashen face and bloodshot eyes turned to his friend.

"It's over, isn't it?"

Edward could only find the strength to nod.

* * *

**OF COURSE IT'S NOT OVER! LOL. ok it's_ almost_ over. I warned you this was long and drawn out, but I hope still entertaining even if it's frustrating. just a couple more chapters. and yeah I know I ripped off a line from New Moon but it felt appropriate, no? p Thanks guys xoxo**


	46. Joy Inside My Tears

"Work like you don't need the money. Love like you've never been hurt. Dance like nobody's looking."

- Unknown

**...**

**Two weeks later**

"Here."

Alex flung a wadded brown paper sack onto the bed. It was late. He was tired. He'd been on his feet since 5am and it was now well after midnight. Fish and chips. It was all he could find but he knew Edward hadn't eaten since he'd tossed a half-eaten baguette at him the previous afternoon. He kicked off his shoes and hung up his coat. He looked at the sagging bed - the bag hadn't moved since it landed on the mattress.

"Eat it," he said without emotion. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. It was stuffy in the flat but he'd take it over dampness any day. At least it was warm. He noticed the window had been opened a crack to let the fresh air in. He took that as a good sign.

"I said eat it," he repeated, lowering his trousers and pulling off his black dress socks. Still no answer. He sighed. Still no _fucking_ answer. He picked a plate off the floor and brushed the baguette crumbs into the bin. Then he sat on the bed, unwrapped the greasy bag and dumped it's contents on the plate. The chips tasted like fish. The fish was oversalted but to him it was heavenly. He took two delicious bites and set the plate on the bed between them.

"Your turn, love. It's good." Alex waited for a response. His patience was growing thin but you'd never know it. He sat quietly and stared at the blanket. Every few seconds it rose and fell.

_Well at least he's breathing._

"You go to work today?"

No answer.

"You're going to get sacked, y'know. Then what are we going to do? I can't keep stealing dinners off sidewalk cafe tables."

"_I went to work," _came a muffled voice from under the gray blanket_._

"You...you did? Well..._great,_" he said with genuine sincerity and a mixture of shock. "Great. Thatta boy, Eddie. Now, eat up."

"_I'm not hungry._"

"You've been saying that for days but every time I put something down, it's gone when I come back."

Alex patted the blanket and stood. He put the plate on the floor and went to the basin. He washed his face and under his arms with soap and water and dried them with the towel. He scrubbed his tongue and teeth with the brush, rinsed and spat. He was exhausted. His bones and muscles ached. He yaaaaawned. And then he started to cough. Deep, abrasive, painful bursts he couldn't control. He muffled the sounds with the towel.

"_You ok?"_

The jag lasted only ten seconds and Alex sighed in relief. "Yep fine, fine," he said hoarsely. "Something in my throat." But when he pulled the towel away from his mouth and looked down, there was blood on it again. He wiped his lips thoroughly and splashed more water on his face before balling the towel up and stuffing it behind the pipe. Then he crawled into bed beside Edward and pulled the covers up to his chin. Edward didn't stir but Alex knew he was awake. It was warm and comfortable under the covers with Edward. Alex felt himself drifting off. And then...

"What's going on, Al?"

"...What do you mean?"

"You know damn well what I mean. You're coughing."

"Nahhh, just a bit here and there. Nothing to worry about. Go to sleep." Alex turned on his side with his back to Edward and closed his eyes.

"...You're sick."

"..."

"Alexander." Edward's voice was louder now. He sat up in bed. "Alex, answer me. You're sick again. Why didn't you tell me? Why let me find out on my own?" There were tears in his mouth now. He tasted them. He wasn't crying. They were just...falling.

"Alex, please," Edward persisted. He was gently shaking Alex now to get him to turn. "Alex, look at me. _Answer me, dammit!_ You're sick again, aren't you? _Aren't you!_" He was trembling. Alex must have felt it because he took Edward's hand in his own and nestled it under his chin.

"I'm alright," he said, his black eyes swirling. He kissed Edward's knuckles and let Edward's hand fall to his chest. Edward could swear he felt the whizzing of labored breathing beneath Alex's rib cage.

"No you're not," Edward said softly. "You're sick, Al. You've been sick for awhile. Haven't you? Since when, Alex?" he insisted. "_Since when?_"

Alex knew he wasn't going to win this one and a part of him wanted to come clean. He cleared his throat and tasted metal.

"I felt it coming on the night I found Isabella."

"And you ignored it."

"Yes."

"And now it's worse."

"Somewhat."

Edward leapt out of bed in a flash. "Oh really. Somewhat?" He marched over to the sink and ripped the balled up towel from behind the pipe. Alex cringed, helpless. Edward held it by the edge and let it unravel, revealing it's gory secret; squashed clots of thick red blood drying black in the center.

"Somewhat?" Edward repeated, holding back a cry. "Jesus Christ, Alex. We've got to get you to a hospital!"

"Yeah right," Alex snorted. He flopped on his back and coughed once, twice, and then stopped. "No hospitals."

"What?" Edward shouted. "Why not?"

"Nothing can be done."

"That's not true! Alex, that's not true! There's medicine and - - and - -"

"And what, love? There is no medicine. Bed rest? I'd much rather do that _here._..with you."

Edward returned to the bed and sat at Alex's side. He seemed so small laying there under the wool blanket. Edward often forgot how much thinner Alex was than he. If they were wild cats Alex would be a cheetah; Edward a lion.

"Let's go home, Alexander. What are we still doing here? This," he motioned to their squalid surroundings. "This was all for nothing. Let's admit it was a mistake and go the fuck home."

"We're not going home."

"Fine. You stay here. _I'm _going."

"You're not going anywhere."

Edward laughed. "Excuse me?"

"Weren't you the one who told me we_ aren't leaving here without her_? Or was that my imagination?"

"Your imagination? Alex, she doesn't want me! You were there. You saw what happened. She left us. _Me._ She left me."

"And?"

"_And?_ What else is there?"

Alex sighed and struggled to prop himself up on his elbows so they'd be eye to eye. "Since when do you give up so easily? You've been moping around here for days. You don't eat unless I force you. You don't talk unless I make you. All you do is lay in bed or stare out the window."

"I want to go home."

"There's nothing for you there."

"What about my brother? His family. Our friends."

"They don't matter."

Edward's jaw dropped in disbelief. "You don't honestly believe what you're saying."

"And why shouldn't I? They have their own lives. Emmett, Rosalie – they have their baby and their house and their lives. Those twats, our friends as you call them, they also have their own lives. They're busy looking for love and happiness and a way to pay the bills just like everyone else. And if you go back there, then what? _Your_ love and _your_ happiness is not in Moscow. Not anymore. It's here."

"What should I do, Alex? Force her? Kidnap her? It won't work. She said so herself. It's impossible. We can't be together."

"_Coward_." Alex muttered it soundlessly under his breath in irritation. He was tired of having to cure Isabella of her neuroses. But, it looked like he was going to have to do it again. _Giselle_ was still enjoying a sold-out run.

"What did you say?" Edward asked.

"I said _dangerous_, yes it's dangerous, he'll kill everyone, you, me, everyone we love, yes yes, it's very noble of her to give up her happiness for our protection." He grinned sarcastically and pinched Edward's rosy cheek.

_She's still a fucking coward._

"She loves me."

Alex sighed and wiped his hand down his face. "Yes, I know she does."

...

"_Yoo hoo, Edward. Edward Anthony. Wake the fuck up._"

Edward had spent the night at the foot of the bed watching Alex as he slept; listening to his rasping, stuttered breaths, making sure they kept coming no matter how ragged. It wasn't until the first rays of morning light streamed in from the horizon that he crept up to his pillow and shut his heavy eyes.

"What time is it?" Edward grumbled, rolling over with an exaggerated stretch. Alex stood at the foot of the bed checking him out without shame.

"Clock at the cafe said half past two."

"In the afternoon!" Edward screeched, flinging the blanket to the floor and racing to the basin. "I should have left for work hours ago!"

"It's Thursday. Aren't you off on Thursdays?"

"Thursday." Edward stopped mid-wash and thought. Water trickled down his bare chest. Alex looked away when he caught himself staring.

"Today's Thursday?"

"That's what it says according to this here newspaper. And yes it's today's paper."

"Oh thank god," Edward exhaled with relief. "I'm going back to bed."

"Oh no you're not. You're not going to stay in bed all day. The sun is out. It's warm. The sky is blue."

"And? So what?"

"We're going out."

...

"What are we doing?" Edward asked as they headed north towards Tower Bridge.

"Last time I checked we were walking. London is quite beautiful actually, when you take the time to look at it."

Edward studied Alex's face for signs of sarcasm or mirth but found none. Alex was staring intently at the engineering marvel looming before them, a look of awe overtaking his usual unimpressed demeanor. Edward suddenly found himself doubled over with laughter.

"Who are you and what have you done with my friend Alex?" he giggled uncontrollably.

Alex rolled his eyes and dug his hands deeper into his trouser pockets. "Laugh it up, smartass. I know beauty when I see it, and I happen to be standing between two of the very finest examples ever created." He shot Edward a devilish wink and Edward felt himself blushing for the first time since Isabella crossed the threshold of a dance studio in Moscow and changed his life forever.

"You're a charmer," Edward said sarcastically, his pulse still thrumming in reaction to Alex's compliment. "But seriously, what are we doing? You take me out to lunch,_ then_ for a drink...I don't even_ want_ to know where you got the money for it all. Now we're on a stroll? This feels like a date."

"It's not a date."

"Well, that's what it feels like."

"Well, that's not what it_ izzz._"

They continued walking up the bank of the Thames in silence.

"Alex-"

"It's_ not_ a date! ...I just wanted..." he hesitated, slowly choosing his words. "I just wanted to go out with you. With my _friend_ and have something to eat and a drink and go for a walk and...be normal for a minute. That's all. I swear. I'm not trying to seduce you or anything like that."

"Al, I didn't think-"

"Yes you did. It's ok, I don't blame you. The old me would totally do something like that."

"The old you?"

"Mmhm."

"So, who am I walking with now? Is this the new you?" Edward teased. Alex smiled at the ground and shook his head, his shaggy hair falling over his eyes.

"I don't know. This trip has been-"

"Hell, "Edward snorted.

"It has been for you, and I'm sorry for that. I wish the outcome had been different. I mean that, Edward. I never, not even for one second, wished that it would end this way in the hopes that you would come back to me. You belong with her."

Edward groaned and sat on a bench. He clasped his hands behind his head and fought against the tidal wave of emotions. The scent of flowers filled the air and for a moment Edward concentrated on how good they smelled. And how warm the sun felt on his face. It really was a gorgeous day.

"Alex?" he said finally.

"Yeah?"

"Where have you been going in the mornings?"

Alex stood facing the water. The seconds ticked by without an answer. Then he took a seat next to Edward.

"I've been looking for a job."

...

It wasn't a total lie. Not really. Not by Alex's standards. He had no intention of looking for a job in the traditional definition of the word. Finding his way inside that goddamn theater had become his obsession. And_ obsession_ was a full time job. Sure it didn't pay, but compensation couldn't be measured in coins. He was getting inside that theater and he was getting his hands on Isabella if it took every once of breath in his body. The two things he needed in order to do so, he already had in spades. Time and patience. As Alice used to say,_ Love takes time, love makes time_. He'd always shrugged off her corny little sayings but these days he'd really begun to miss her heart-shaped face, her unconditional love for him. He hoped she was happy back home and that someone was looking out for her, loving her the way she deserved to be loved, the way he was never able to love her back.

The one thing he was missing, the one thing that would have made his life infinitely easier was money. He refused to steal from Edward and there was no way to ask for any without lying to his face. Every showing of _Giselle_ was sold out for the rest of the run and the charms and tactics he used to secure entry into every other show in the city on the arms of debutantes had turned up zero leads. He'd been reduced to stalking around the theater alone, watching and waiting, just like he did during the weeks he spent searching for Isabella. But now that he knew where she was, it was only a matter of time before he found his way inside those elitist walls. He made up a routine and every day he followed it to the letter. In his mind he kept detailed mental notes.

_6:00am: Cleaning crew from night before leave. Every door locked including performer entrance and exit. Curious men in black appear to be patrolling the block in shifts._

_10:00am: Linen truck arrives. Drops off between ten and twelve loads. Grumpy man not interested in answering questions or letting me in side door with him. Locks up when he leaves._

_1:30pm: Ice truck arrives. Delivers several large blocks at back entrance. Locks up and leaves._

_4:30pm: Food wagon arrives. Massive delivery. Doors open for thirty minutes while cases are rolled in, however men in black are stationed at every corner. _

_5:30pm: Wine and beer delivery. Same._

_6:00pm: Talent arrive._

_7:30pm: Audience files in._

The observations continued until Alex could no longer fight off the hunger and fatigue and returned to the flat only to begin again the very next morning.

Meanwhile Edward dug deep into himself and went on existing. No matter how desperately he wished to return to Moscow, no matter how badly he wanted to run away from his life in London, he had a job here and a bloody good paying one at that. Enough to pay the rent, food, a new pair of shoes and to begin repaying the amount Tanya had lent him before he left; money he had used to get by during their first few weeks in town. It felt good to be a working man. A saving man. If Isabella was lost to him, at least he had that.

"Fantastic playing again tonight, Edward. Here are your wages for the week."

"Thank you, sir," Edward answered politely. He stuffed the envelope inside his jacket pocket and continued wiping down the piano until it shone like mirrors. Then he neatly stacked the books of sheet music inside the bench and wiped it down as well. His boss, Mr. Banner, lingered in the doorway.

"So, Edward...there were some men here tonight..."

Edward froze, the cloth clenched between his fingers. "Sir?" he gulped.

"They were asking about...new hires...if we'd hired any new...lately if new..." Banner exhaled deeply and came closer.

"...Yes, sir?" Edward prodded innocently. "New...?"

"Edward are you in trouble?"

"Um,_ trouble_?"

"Yes, Edward. Trouble. I only ask because it's not every day that Demetri Romanoff's hired hands come into my club and ask questions about my employees. Are you acquainted with Mr. Romanoff?"

Edward looked away. His reflection in the piano's polished cover stared back at him. Wide eyed. Busted.

"Please don't fire me, Mr. Banner."

"Should I, Edward? Are you mixed up with Romanoff? He's a very wealthy, very connected, very dangerous man."

"No, sir. Not at all. I mean, I used to play piano accompaniment for one of his dancers, in Moscow, when I lived in Moscow yes I guess I worked for him."

"You guess you worked for him? Did he pay you?"

"Indirectly. I was paid by the studio who was paid by him."

"Who did you play for? Which dancer?"

"Is-Isabella Swan."

"I see. And why would his people be asking questions...about you...here in London?"

"I don't know, sir. I play well. I was a good accompanist." He was grasping at straws. Why else would Demetri's goons be searching piano bars and asking questions about him if it hadn't been discovered that he was in London? The jig was most definitely up. He had to talk to Alex.

"Edward-" Shit, but first he was going to be fired. He could feel it. He gathered up his rucksack and prepared for the old heave-ho.

"- don't fret. I didn't tell them anything. Come have a drink." Well that was unexpected. Edward cleared his throat.

"Sir?"

"Do you have somewhere you need to be at this hour? No? Good, then come have a drink. No man in his right mind turns down a free drink in this economy, do they?"

"No, sir. Thank you, sir."

"This is my daughter, Maggie. She does all my dirty work for me. ...Serving the customers, I mean," Banner snorted, amused by his attempt at humor. "She tends bar, makes all those fruity drinks the society ladies like and slings the hard stuff too. She does it all with grace and poise, she does. This will all be hers one day."

Edward bowed respectfully and brought Maggie's hand to his lips when she extended it. He was positive he had never seen her before in his life.

"I don't think you've ever had the pleasure of meeting," Banner went on, as if he had read Edward's mind. "If you ever came out from that blasted instrument for a drink I'm sure you would have noticed her."

"I'm sure," Edward smiled politely. Maggie was incredibly beautiful. A soft round face, plump lips, long lashes, light eyes. Hair that fell to her shoulders in honeyed waves. He imagined that she'd be Alex's type (although there were few women who weren't Alex's type) and made a mental note never to introduce them. She set two squat glasses full of golden liquid in front of them. Banner gulped his down and motioned for another.

"You're the pianist." Her voice was softer than he expected.

"Yes."

"Who hides behind his piano," she kidded, pouring another. "You make beautiful music."

"Thank you. It's the piano, it's not me."

She looked at her father and smiled. "He's modest." Then returned her gaze to Edward. "Do you find it difficult to take compliments? Most talented people do." Her eyes had the ability to hook and draw you in. Edward felt the liquid burn as it flowed down his throat.

Banner slung back his third drink and slid off the barstool. "Well, I'll leave you two alone. Keep nursing that drink, Eddie boy," Banner slurred. "She can't close up, _or go home_, until you're finished."

"I think he's trying to set us up," Maggie said as she watched her father stumble out the door. "Don't worry, you don't have to do anything. I'm not expecting you to start hitting on me. He does this sometimes when he meets a guy he likes. He introduces them to me, like I'm up for auction. _Take a look at this prime head of cattle, isn't she a beaut, name your price._ Ugh."

Edward couldn't help but laugh. She looked so genuinely annoyed at her dad's attempts to interfere in her dating life. "Why does he do it?"

"He means well. After my mom died it's been just the two of us. He worries about me. Wants me to be taken care of and all that."

"You look like you're taking care of yourself pretty well." He was startled by the chime-like sound of Maggie's laugh.

"Oh Edward, is that the best you've got?"

"Huh?"

"Is that your idea of a pick up line? You must be single."

"I thought I wasn't trying to pick you up? ...And yes, I am single."

...

Alex awoke with a screaming hangover complete with pesky headache, sore muscles and sketchy memories of the cause. They must have been festive memories, however, for he found himself laying in bed completely nude and satiated in a way that he had not enjoyed since his arrival in Merry Ole England.

"Fucking Christ my head," he grumbled, squeezing the bridge of his nose and seeing stars. It had just approached dawn and looked like it was going to be another beautiful day. But what happened last night? He flexed his thigh muscles. Yup, they were sticky. He licked his lips. Yup, they were raw. He smelled his fingers. They smelled like sweat and musk and semen. There was dirt under his fingernails and there was someone in bed with him, lightly snoring under the blanket. Alex's stomach dropped and he felt the bile and residue from last nights debauchery rise up his throat. His heart raced and dread set it.

_No, oh god no, oh please no. Fuck. Fuck, no. Not Edward. Please let it not be Edward. _

But who else could it be? They lived together. They shared a bed. They shared a wash basin and a bar of soap and a toothbrush.

_How could you do this, you fucking prick_! Alex screamed inwardly. _You ruined everything! You got him drunk and you fucked him! You took advantage of him! You sonofabitch!_

But, wait. No. That was all wrong. Alex closed his eyes and forced the gears in his head to turn. There was something he was missing. He replayed the sketchy events he could recall, and then a light flicked on...

It's not Edward.

Alex took a deep breath and rolled over the body laying next to him.

"Oi. Hello there. …Ohhhh yes, I remember you. You were great fun last night. Oh yes it's all coming back to me now. What 's your name, love?"

"I like the way you say _love._ You can just call me that."

_Nicely volleyed_, Alex smirked. Two can play at this game.

"Ah but I would like to call you something else while I'm fucking you, darling. And I feel an_ intense_ need to fuck you _right now,_ so could you speed this up and tell me your name?"

The sleepy boy underneath him gave a dazzling grin and obeyed.

"It's Garrett."


	47. Mercy

**I wonder if I can get to 300 reviews before this is all said and done ;p**

**Thanks again to you loyal readers xoxoxo**

**Ok so,Garrett? Who's Garrett? Let's find out.**

**S Meyer owns Twilight**

* * *

_Mercy (noun)_

1. Compassion or forgiveness shown toward someone whom it is within one's power to punish or harm: "the boy was begging for mercy".

2. An event to be grateful for, esp. because its occurrence prevents something unpleasant or provides relief from suffering.

It was hot in the flat that morning. Alex lay on his back with his arms crossed under his head staring at the ceiling, a silly smile plastered across his face. It was another sunny day in Londontown and he should have opened the window to let some fresh air in. Instead he happily wallowed in the musky smell. The smell of Garrett. The smells they created together. The sounds they made, and made and made. The way Garrett turned on his side. The way he made Alex feel. New and alive and...

_Garrett._ Alex sighed, closing his eyes and picturing it all over again. _Who knew?_ He hadn't seen this one coming, that's for sure. It all happened so fast. One minute he's making the usual rounds, sitting in the cafe drinking luke warm tea, watching, waiting, trying to figure out what the fuck to do to get into that damn theater. The next he's approaching the wine wagon as it made it's daily delivery. It was late. Every day of the show the wagon arrived at 5:30pm on the dot. That day is was nearly 6:15pm before Alex noticed it pulling up. Isabella's handlers were going to have a fit. The bar would barely be stocked in time for arrivals. There would be a scene for sure. Alex was thrilled at the possibility. He jogged across the street with new hope. Or at least with an idea for a new topic of conversation.

_"Ahem. It seems to me that you're late._" He waited for the usual snide remark from the ornery, overweight delivery man. Chester, or whateverthefuck his name was, hated Alex with a passion. To him Alex was like an annoying tsetse fly that couldn't catch a hint. Always pestering, always asking questions. _Where do you store the liquor? Who drinks the champagne? Is there a wine cellar somewhere? Where does that entrance lead and that exit go?_ He was constantly asking Chester if he needed help bringing the creates inside the theater. _You're looking a little pale there, mate. How about I carry these inside for you_? Chester was running out of ways to tell Alex to fuck the fuck off. But not today. For Chester wasn't there to flip Alex the middle finger. Instead Alex was greeted by a tall, skinny boy with a wide smile jumping out of the passengers side with a cheerful bounce. Alex was taken aback. The boy with dark eyes lifted his cap, looked up at the bright marquis and then at his watch.

"_Hmm_," was all he said and it was all Alex needed to feel the spark. "_I suppose I'm going to catch hell for this, aren't I?_"

"_You're new?_" Alex asked after he managed to find his breath.

"_Yeah_," the boy smiled with a hint of shyness. "_Still getting the lay of the land. Last and largest delivery of the night._"

"_Need any help_?"

"_Nah I'm ok. But thanks_."

Alex watched the boy unload the crates with surprising ease. He stacked them by the entrance one on top of the other, oblivious to Alex's stare.

_Now what_? Alex felt like a child on the playground waiting to be chosen for kickball.

"_So you'll be here tomorrow_?"

The boy tilted his head, gazing at Alex over the top of a crate, and nodded with a smile.

...

The door to the flat swung open and a bedraggled Edward stepped inside. He closed it half-heartedly behind him and shook off his blazer with a groan.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Alex barked from the bed. "It's the middle of the afternoon!" Edward continued to peel off his wrinkled clothing without acknowledging the question. Down to his undershorts and shirt he padded to the basin and stopped in his tracks. Something was different.

"Was someone here?" He sniffed the air and scanned his immediate surroundings. "Someone was here."

"Where have you _been_?" Alex repeated incredulously. "Those are the same clothes you wore yesterday."

"I wear the same clothes every day," Edward mumbled, picking through their meager belongings. Everything seemed to be in its right place, yet...

"Your hair is standing straight up. And what's that on your neck?"

"What! Where?" Edward yelped, racing to the mirror. He touched and pulled at his skin, but nothing was there. "Asshole."

Alex laughed loudly and sat up in bed. "Were you with a girl last night? A_ BOY_? Don't break my heart and tell me a boy."

"I wasn't with a boy," Edward sighed, splashing water on his face. "Who were _you_ with? This place reeks."

"So it _was_ a girl. Edward you dog! Way to bounce back, my friend, I'm proud of you."

"Yeah well don't be."

"Why not? You're a handsome devil. You work around beautiful RICH women who would die to choke on your cock, to gag on those balls -"

"Ugh alright alright," Edward cringed.

"Did I mention you're sexy? And manly?"

"Yes yes enough," Edward laughed. He sat on the bed next to Alex in the exact space where Garrett had laid. Alex sucked in a breath and pushed the tantalizing images out of his mind.

"So who is she? Who's she married to? When is she going to start lavishing you with jewels and expensive suits?"

"Who was here last night?" Edward insisted.

"Me."

"And?"

"..."

"Alex. I know you had someone here and I know it was a man."

"How do you know it was a man? You're not the only one hounded by beautiful women."

"A man knows when another man has been on his turf. Or should I say IN his turf."

"This is your turf?" Alex blushed, feining naivety and running his hand across his bare chest.

"I meant this FLAT. ...And yes, ok, you were my turf for awhile. I know when you've been up to something, or someone."

"What's her name?"

"What's _his_ name?"

"I asked you first."

"Don't play games with me."

"Games? I'm not the one who didn't come home last night. And if I _did_ bring someone home, so what? It's not like that would be out of the ordinary. I'm an asshole, remember? I came home and you were gone. I think YOU'RE the one who has some explaining to do."

"So you DID bring someone here!"

"Yes! Yes, ok? _Yes_. Jesus, you're a SLEUTH."

"And he stayed over."

"Yes."

Edward paused and mulled over this new information. "...Wow."

"What's wow?" Alex huffed with exasperation.

"You never let them stay over."

"I let YOU stay over."

"You let ME move in. Stop dodging."

"I'm not."

"You like this one."

"Shut up, Edward. We're talking about you and this mystery bird you went home with last night. Far more interesting."

"Oh hell no it's not. You're _glowing_."

"I'm freshly fucked, what do you expect?"

"You fucked him this morning?" Edward roared with laughter. "It's official! You're smitten for sure. ...He slept over, in my spot but I'll let that go, and you shagged him again this morning! You like him. You do."

"Alright fine! I like him. Fucking hell you're relentless."

"I'm sorry, Ally. I don't mean to make fun. I'm glad for you. I really am."

"Fuck you," Alex snorted, rolling on his side and pulling the blanket over his head. "I hate you."

"Awww, no you don't. Come on, don't be this way. Tell me about him."

"No."

"What's his name?"

"No."

"I'll tell you about the girl from last night."

Alex shot up like a rocket, the blanket pooling around his ankles. "His name is Garrett. He's a boy. Brown hair, pretty eyes, narrow waist. Tight ass. I met him last week. Last night was his first time. He took it like a pro and begged for more." Alex looked down at his exposed penis. "Damn I'm getting hard just thinking about it."

"You got it bad," Edward giggled.

"Yeah so what if I have?" Alex snapped, jumping out of bed and sauntering stark naked to the basin.

"You seeing him again?"

"Dunno. We didn't make plans to." _I know where to find him though_, Alex thought to himself. "Ok enough about me. Your turn."

Edward groaned and dropped his head into his hands. "It was all a big, confusing mistake."

"One night stands usually are."

"Is that what it was?"

"You tell me." Alex picked a pair of discarded undershorts off the floor and slipped them on. He went back to the bed and sat next to Edward. "Is that what happened last night, Edward?"

Edward stared into his lap. The whole way home he'd been trying to think of a way to explain to himself what the hell happened. _Too much alcohol?_ But he hadn't had that much to drink. _Pressure?_ No, she hadn't pressured him. _Curiosity?_ The need to feel wanted again. The desire in her eyes. She had a nice smile. She didn't ask him to stay.

"She's..." He jammed his thumbs into his eyes. _She's not a bad person. She's sweet. We talked for hours_. "She's my boss's daughter."

Alex sucked in a breath and held it. Edward prepared for the laughter, the jokes and jabs, but they didn't come. Alex was silent, waiting for him to continue.

"She was closing up for the night. My boss was there. Then he left. It was late. I offered to walk her home. ...That's it. That's how it happened."

"How what happened?"

Edward sighed and leaned with his back against the wall. "She draws. Maggie, her name's Maggie and she draws these incredible portraits with pencil and charcoal. She showed them to me."

"At her place?"

"Yeah." Edward went on to describe her tiny flat filled with photos and fragrances. Pillows piled high on the cozy twin bed. Two large windows draped in cream lace overlooking the Thames. Nothing hidden. Everything out in the open. No doors on her closet. Her clothes and panties in full view, hung over chairs and drying on lines. The drawers of her bureau all slightly ajar. Books scattered on the floor and on shelves in no particular order. And paper. Paper everywhere. They sat knee to knee on the floor and she showed him her art. Works in progress and finished pieces that took Edward's breath away. All delicate lines and eerie shadings staring back at him.

"You really see the people you draw," he had said. "Do they know you're looking at them this way?"

She smiled and tore a fresh sheet of paper from a ream and grabbed a pencil. "Keep doing what you're doing," she said. "Don't look at me."

"But I'm not doing anything."

"Yes you are."

Her clothes came off gradually and blended in with the rest of her bedroom as though they were painted onto the canvas using muted colors and fine brush strokes. He hovered over her naked body. She lay under him without shame, exposed at his mercy. There were no words and only the faintest of sounds; their shaky breathing and the squeaks from the wire frame of the bed. He traced the tip of his nose over her collarbone and smelled her skin. She hummed and ran her fingers through his hair. She liked the way he touched her and she responded with soft mewls and the parting of her legs. She had large breasts and wide hips and Edward admired her curves with the palm of his hand. When doubt crept in he buried his face between her tits and entered her swiftly. He was a man after all and she was beautiful and talented and wet for him. Her moans were for him. Her tongue wanted to taste him. Her hands were everywhere. Her cries of pleasure were in response to his power. He slid inside her and filled her and pulled and pushed and rocked and buried his face in her shoulder and bit when the the power of his orgasm overtook him. She'd already come twice. Once when he first entered her and again when she flipped over and he took her once more from behind.

It was tawdry and borderline seedy and when it was over they looked at each other, sweaty and spent, and busted out laughing.

"You started_ laughing_?" Alex gaped, appalled at the thought. Edward nodded with a snort.

"We looked ridiculous. Cramped into her tiny bed. We knocked everything off the bedside table. I think there was a pair of pantyhose stuck to my ass. It was messy and silly. It was comical."

"If a broad started laughing after I fucked her, I'd think it was ANYTHING but comical."

"It didn't mean anything. It was sex, that's all. We didn't intend for it to happen and it's not going to happen again."

"Why not? Was it good?"

"It was desperate. It was two horny people caught up in the moment. She doesn't expect anything from me."

"Because you're holding a candle for Isabella Swan." It was a rude remark. Alex had made them before. There were his trademark. He could never pass up the opportunity to sling a cutting barb. But this time Edward was not amused. He reeled as if punched in the jaw and his face contorted with anger and hurt.

"Fuck you. You don't know what it's like being me. I can't move on."

"Bullshit," Alex spat. "I did."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm not in love with you anymore."

"And? What am I supposed to say to that? Why are you telling me this?"

"It can be done, that's all I'm saying." He leaned in closer. He really wanted Edward to hear him. "Edward, I fell in love with you the day we met and every day since then. Up until last week I've been in love with you every single day that we've lived in this flat. Moving on from that kind of love, you think it's impossible. But it's not."

The truth was, Alex had no intention of letting Edward get over Isabella. Whether or not he believed what he was saying - that it was possible to get over the love of your life and move on - there was no way in hell he was going to stand by and watch Edward go through that kind of pain if there was anything he could do to prevent it. He was going to fulfill his mission. One thing was certain, however. Alex had fallen for Garrett, and fallen hard. He couldn't understand it. It was although he'd been run over on a rail. And from what he could tell, the feeling was mutual.

_"Tell me about you and Edward."_

_"What do you want to know?"_

_"Everything."_

_"You can't know everything."_

_"Why not?"_

_"Certain things can't be put into words."_

_"I understand."_

_"Do you?"_

_"Uh huh. It's like the way I feel about you. I can't begin to put that into words."_

...

"You're feeling better," Edward noticed as he got ready for work. Alex was actually folding their laundry and putting it away without being threatened or bribed. "You haven't been coughing. You've been sleeping through the night. ...Love suits you."

Alex sneered in Edward's direction and kept folding.

"Oh come on, Al. Don't be such a sourpuss. I know you've been seeing him every day. _ Garrett_. I saw you walking with him yesterday. He's cute."

"Of course he's cute. I have standards."

"When do I get to meet him."

"Never."

Edward laughed and re-did his tie for the tenth time. "Why not?"

"Cuz. There's no need to." Alex pushed past Edward and began randomly stuffing clothes into drawers.

"Alex, come on. Stop ignoring me. When are you going to let me meet your boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Why are you hiding him from me?"

Alex groaned and slammed the drawer. "I'm not, ok. I just...I want to keep things separate. If you meet him and then he likes you, it's going to be the three of us. And let's face it, you're way better looking than...than anyone I know so, there's that. Plus I don't want him looking at you like how I look at you and I don't want him picturing us together. I've told him all about you though. About us. About everything. How much I love you, how important you are to me, how you're a big part of my life -"

"Then let me meet him."

"Ugh. ...Fine. But not today. And not tomorrow.

"Yes, dear. Whenever you're ready." Edward gave him a wink and was out the door.

An hour later Alex was cruising the sidewalk in front of the theater, his eyes scanning the pedestrians for that one familiar face.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Garrett said, breathless from his jog across the intersection. His cheeks were flushed. Alex noticed. They touched hands but pulled away before anyone could see. "You ready?" he asked. Alex nodded and they headed around the back of the building. "I hope this works."

"It'll work."

* * *

**Can you guess what they're up to? It's what brings about the end of this whole damn thing ;p**

**Love to you all.**


	48. You're the only one who knows

**Come on 300! p**

* * *

**"Dancing is the loftiest, the most moving, the most beautiful of the arts. For it is no mere translation or abstraction of life. It is life itself." -Henry Havelock Ellis **

Edward finished the last few notes of Chopin's Ballade No.1 Op.23 with a flourish and packed up the piles of sheet music into his rucksack. He closed the piano cover and pushed in the bench. He was leaving with a nice wad in his pocket tonight. The crowd came pouring in after the theaters let out but Edward tried not to think about the fact that most of them had come from seeing _Giselle_. From seeing his Isabella. There were a million questions he'd like to ask them. How did she look? Did she seem happy? Does she miss me? Does she think of me? But these were questions they couldn't answer. Questions he could only dream up the answers to.

He laced his way through the lounge and walked past the bar to say goodnight to Maggie who was busy waiting on a few lingering customers.

"Good night, Maggie," he said with a small wave in her direction.

"Night, Edward. Great playing as usual." She waved back to him with a smile. There was no weirdness between them. After their hasty one night stand Edward was relieved that they could still be friends. If she wanted more from him, she never said it. She hadn't changed one step of her daily routine to put herself in his way. She didn't interact with him at work unless their paths crossed, which they rarely did. She hadn't invited him back to her place nor was she waiting for him to ask her out for coffee or dinner. Any other man, specifically a male like Alex, might have found this behavior insulting to his ego. Had she not enjoyed having sex with him? Had she not been satisfied? He knew she had. He was there. He felt it. He heard it. No, the answer was clear. He and Maggie were more alike than he'd imagined. She, too, had an Isabella of her own.

Two men dressed in gray and black evening-wear stood at the bar, their intentions clear. They sucked down their drinks and placed their tumblers on the countertop. Without a word they retrieved their hats and made a swift exit with Edward in their sights.

"_That him?"_

"_That's him."_

Their footsteps quickened. Edward tightened the strap of his rucksack and increased his pace. He was being followed. He knew it without having to look over his shoulder - an instinctual skill born from a life on the streets. If he could just get to the end of the block, near the intersection, he could blend in amongst a crowd, it would make it difficult for them to attack him. For he was going to be attacked, he was sure of it.

He'd always wondered in what form his death would come. Tonight was the night he'd find out. He felt their clammy grips on the backs of his arms. He struggled but they were dragging him with his feet off the ground. No leverage. No way to fight them off. Immobilized.

The larger of the thugs held Edward's arms behind his back while the smaller one punched him in the jaw, kneed him in the groin and then finished off by kicking him in the stomach, once in the ribs, twice, three times and again for good measure. The larger one picked him up and slammed his already broken body into the brick wall over and over until his vertebrae cracked and his vision blurred. Then they tossed him to the ground in a bloody heap and stalked off. There was no need for words. The message had been clear.

_We know you're here. Stay away if you know what's good for you._

He lay crumpled on the wet ground, doubled over in pain and humiliation. His rucksack had been kicked across the alley but at least they hadn't taken it from him. He tasted blood and smelled piss. The rain was coming down harder now. Maybe he'd drown in it, he chuckled to himself. Footsteps were approaching. Had they come back for more? He couldn't find the strength to lift his head up or to care.

"Edward!" Maggie raced down the alley and fell to her knees. She must have closed up for the night. Had he been laying there that long? "Oh my god. Are you alright?" She inched towards him, her skirts dragging across the filthy cobblestones. She lifted his chin and examined the cuts on his face, his bloodied lip, his swelling eyes. She carefully caressed his split brow and wiped the grime from his forehead.. "Who did this to you?"

Edward belched up a stringy clump of blood and spat it onto the sidewalk. He slumped against the wall and put his head between his legs.

"It was those men from the bar, wasn't it? I knew there was something odd about them. They've been coming in for days, asking strange questions, their eyes darting around like they were looking for someone. They were looking for you."

"Yep, they certainly found me," he coughed painfully.

"Come on, let's get you up and out of the rain." She draped Edward's arm over her shoulder and lifted him to his feet with all her might. She slung his rucksack across her chest and lead him out of the alley. They were both soaked to the bone and must have looked like quite the pair as they made their way down the block.

"You don't have to do this, Maggie," he said as she hung his wet clothing by the fire.

"And what should I do? Leave a beaten man in an alley? You're hurt. You'll catch your death in those wet clothes. I'm only doing what any decent person would do."

Edward smiled and held the warm mug between his cold hands. After tending to his cuts and bruises, Maggie had sat him down on the couch with a cup of tea and a biscuit. He was wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and one across his shoulders. She excused herself to the bedroom and changed into dry clothes of her own before fixing herself a mug and sitting in the chair opposite him.

"What do they want?" she finally asked.

"They want me to stay away from Isabella Swan."

"That's what they said?"

"In not as many words, but I got the message loud and clear."

"What are you going to do?"

"Stay away from Isabella. It won't be hard. She doesn't want me anymore anyway."

"So you used to be lovers then," Maggie surmised. Edward had to laugh at that one.

"I don't think they beat me because I want my job back. She's left him before. Romanoff. She ran away from him and we lived together for a time. It was wonderful while it lasted. The best time of my life, honestly. But then he found her and she went back to him. Believe me, this-" he motioned to the current condition of his body." "Is child's play compared to what they've done to me in the past. I know they're not kidding. He'll kill me."

"Wow," was all she could say.

"Yeah," Edward sighed and sipped at his tea.

"But now they know where you live."

"Nah, your father pays me under the table. I never gave him my address."

"Clever boy."

"It doesn't make me feel any better though. Those psychos have a way of getting what they want."

"Well if what they want is for you to stay away from Isabella Swan, that can't be too difficult."

Edward smirked and shook his head. "You'd think so. But I have an Alex."

"A what?" Maggie asked with confusion in her furrowed brow.

"How much time we got?"

Edward went on to explain, to the best of his ability and with as little detail as possible, his Alex. The boy who found him on the figid streets of Moscow. Who rescued him from a rat infested youth hostel. His best friend who saved him from a warehouse of Romanoff's ruffians and who journeyed with him to London to get back the love of his life. Even after Isabella's rejection, Alex remained steadfast in his conviction that they would retrieve her no matter how hard Edward insisted it was hopeless.

"Seems like a great guy who just wants you to be happy," Maggie said with a dreamy sigh.

"Yeah well I left some stuff out," he laughed. Like everything about their sexual relationship, how Alex was a serial man/womanizer who wrecked that relationship and nearly ended their friendship, how he antagonized and teased Isabella mercilessly when they lived together...

"I want to go back to Moscow, but Alex...he risked his life for me and I think he likes it here. He met someone. He won't admit it but I think he's in love."

...

"Full house, big boy. Read 'em and weep. Allllll the ladies. You owe me ten blow jobs." Alex leaned over the cards and captured Garrett's lips between his. They kissed languidly for several minutes before Garrett interrupted.

"Maybe we should tell Edward."

"Absolutely not," Alex answered curtly.

"But he could help us."

Alex tossed the deck at Garrett's knee. "It's your deal."

"Alex-"

"You don't know what you're saying."

"Then explain it to me."

"He can't know what we're doing."

"But you said she's being abused. She loves him. It makes sense that we'd tell him-"

"Listen to me!" Alex snapped, smacking the floor with the palm of his hand. "If they_ see_ him, they will _kill_ him. _On the spot_. No questions asked. He'll be dead. Do you understand? These are dangerous people we're messing with. I warned you from the start." He took a deep breath and calmed himself. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. I shouldn't have involved you in this."

"You had no choice. I won't let you do this alone."

The creak of the door signaled Edward's arrival.

"Nice of you to remember you live here," Alex cattily remarked, unhurriedly shuffling the deck. "Garrett, this is Edward. Edward, Garrett." He introduced them without looking up from his cards.

"Nice to finally meet you," he heard Edward say.

"Are you alright, mate? You look like you've been in an accident," he heard Garrett say. In a flash he dropped the cards and was on his feet.

"What the hell happened?" Alex insisted, inspecting Edward's face and clothes. "You don't come home _again_ and now this?"

"Demetri's men had a little talk with me. With their fists."

"_Shit_," Alex spat, kicking over a chair in anger. "They found you. Fuck! They saw me. They recognized me, those bastards! I was so careful! They've probably been searching for weeks. Dammit." He cursed some more and kicked at the wall.

'It might not have been that. It could have been something else."

"Like what?" Alex scoffed. "How the fuck else would Romanoff know you're in town. Unless Isabella told him?"

"No. She wouldn't do that."

But Alex wasn't listening. He was in full rant mode. Bitching and spitting and cursing Isabella. _Fucking traitor, she sold us out, high priced whore_, and other colorful language.

"Looks like you might need a stitch or two in that brow," Garrett observed, seemingly unaffected by the tantrum Alex was having all around the room. "I can take care of it for you if you'll let me." Something about the timbre of Garrett's voice reminded Edward of Jasper; that calming, composed quality that immediately inspired trust and compassion.

"Uh sure," Edward said, slowly shrugging out of his shirt.

Garrett put the kettle on, boiled up the water, and went next door to inquire about a needle.

"He's nice," Edward remarked when they were alone. Alex was pouting on the bed.

"Yeah. Put some clothes on."

"Huh? I'm wearing clothes."

"You're not wearing a shirt."

"There's blood all over it!"

"Yeah well you look really fucking hot all bloody and beaten. I can't have it."

"What's your problem? I'm not going to steal your man. You seem to forget how good looking _you_ are. And he really likes you."

"How do you know?" Alex snorted.

"While you were freaking out a few minutes ago...he wasn't. He just sat there, smiling at you, completely amused."

Garrett returned proudly with a needle and a fifth of vodka. He handed the bottle to Edward after splashing a bit on his wound. Edward winced and chugged. Garrett sterilized the needle and threaded a piece of string through the eye.

"Hold still." Garrett placed one hand on Edward's forehead and with the thumb of the same hand lifted the split brow and stitched three quick sutures through the folds. He tied it off and snapped the string before Edward had the chance to cry out.

"Finished. It'll probably leave a scar but it's better than infection." Garrett cleaned up the mess without being asked and without expecting a thank you.

"So what are you going to do now?" Alex asked. He expected Edward to say that he wasn't going to stick around and wait for them to kill him. He was going back to Moscow. _With or without you_, he expected him to say. Instead Edward rose on shaky legs, grabbed a towel off the shelf and thanked Garrett with a half-smile.

"I'm going down the hall to take a bath."

When the door closed behind him Garrett moved to the bed and sat on Alex's lap. "Looks like we're moving up the start date, eh?"

"Yeah," Alex sighed, stroking Garrett's dark hair. "To tomorrow."

...

Alex sat in the cafe at his place by the window and watched for the wagon. He was dressed in Garrett's spare uniform complete with company logo and name badge. It smelled like Garrett. Alex inhaled. He sipped his tea and absentmindedly nibbled on a biscuit. His eyes were focused on the street. His mind was blank except for the details of the mission. He looked at the clock on the wall of the cafe. 5:30. He turned to look out the window again. The wagon had arrived and was parked outside the theater.

"Phase one: Engage the target." Alex snickered to himself. He'd been calling it that to himself all day. He popped the last of his biscuit in his mouth and headed out the door.

They'd talked it all over one night as they walked along the Thames. Alex started at the beginning. _Edward fell in love with a prima ballerina_. Garrett knew her name well, from the papers and posters plastered around the city. _Romanoff liked to smack her around when she didn't behave._ Garrett didn't know that. His eyes widened as Alex went on. _She ran from him and moved in with us. It worked for awhile. But somehow Romanaoff found Edward. Captured him. Dragged him to an abandoned warehouse to bait her. It worked. We followed, Isabella and me._ Garrett guffawed in shock. Alex went on. _She traded herself for him. They let him go. We followed them here to get her back. And there you have it, in a nutshell, as they say._

"Maybe I can help," Garrett finally offered after the shock wore off.

"You can get me a ticket to the show?"

"Certainly not. Those are impossible to come by. Comps are only given to upper management."

"Then how can you help me? I need to get inside that fucking theater!"

"I'll do you one better. I'll take you right to her dressing room door."

...

"You look amazing in uniform," Garrett said as he jumped down from the cab. Alex stood on the sidewalk and eyed him with a lust-filled gaze. They were dressed identically except for the cap, which Garret took off his head and placed on Alex's. "I hate to cover up that beautiful face, but it's necessary."

Alex tucked his bangs under the brim and behind his ears. Just that subtle change made a huge difference. He could be any delivery boy from the back. He could be Garrett.

Garrett handed him the diary. "Ok, remember what we went over. You check in with the floor manager first. He walks the floor. He'll recognize you right away by your uniform. Once he knows you're here you come back out and start carrying in the crates. Beer, wine and liquor go behind the bar. Hand the diary to the bar manager. He counts the crates and signs off on the delivery. Then you come back out and get the champagne. Champagne is reserved for management and performers. The star, in particular, receives a hand delivered bottle." Garrett raised his eyebrows and enunciated the last three words.

"This is a heavily guarded show. Isabella is never left in her dressing room alone with the exception of a short window after the champagne is delivered and before a guard or lady or Romanoff himself arrive to escort her upstairs to the stage."

Alex nodded in understanding. "Got it."

"Make sure you get out of there before anyone comes. If it were me it wouldn't matter, although the staff gets pissy when they think you've been fraternizing with the performers. One time I spoke with Miss Swan for a moment too long - some polite banter about the size of the crowd - and a guard thumped me on my head and escorted me out by my neck. God only knows what would happen if YOU were found down there. It seems you're not as incognito as you once thought."

Alex knew he was referring to the rub down Edward received the night before. "Yes fine I get it. Then what?"

"You come back to the main lobby and sign out with the floor manager, you get in the wagon and you leave. Well, I'll be out here waiting for you but you get the idea."

"I think I can handle it."

"I know you can," Garrett smiled reassuringly. He wanted so badly to reach out and touch Alex's cheek, to lean in and gently kiss his lips, but he couldn't. It wouldn't be appropriate. "Now go. I'll be waiting."

Alex took a deep breath and headed inside with the diary in his hand. Garrett sat in the back of the cab and tried to pretend he was somewhere else. He didn't look out the window. He hummed to himself in a feeble attempt to drown out the sounds of the theater door opening and closing, of Alex lugging the crates out of the back and down the sidewalk.

The rocking of the wagon ceased and Garrett knew Alex had finished unloading. He was making good time. He would be going to the dressing rooms any moment now. Garrett realized he was holding his breath.

Charlotte patted Isabella's face one more time with the powder puff and applied another coat of lipstick to her lips. She rouged her cheeks a bit darker and triple-checked the fastening of her tightly wound bun.

"Lovely, lovely, lovely," Charlotte chirped, making the mocking motion with her own lips for Isabella to pucker hers. "I daresay you look more beautiful each performance, my dear. But if you would only smile."

"What is there to smile about?" Isabella said in monotone. Charlotte tittered a frilly laugh.

"There's plenty to smile about, sweetheart! You are the star performer in the most talked about play in town. People are coming from other countries to see you dance. Oh Isabella, are you not aware of the many gifts you have? Look around you. Look in the mirror. You are exquisite."

Isabella blanched at the sight of herself gussied up like a privileged whore. And that's what she was, more or less, wasn't it? A porcelain whore, selling herself for money and praise and adulation. None of which were things she valued anymore. Maybe once. When she was young and naive and...before...anyway, not anymore.

"I'd like to be alone."

Charlotte looked at the time. There was a knock on the door.

"That must be the champagne. It goes..."

"They know where it goes. Thank you, Charlotte," she said curtly. Charlotte blushed in understanding and opened the door, letting the delivery in and herself out.

Isabella poked and prodded at her cheeks and eyelashes. She heard the bottle of champagne being placed into the bucket. She squirted parfum on her chest and wrists and dabbed a bit behind each ear.

"Hello Isabella."

That voice. She spun around so swiftly that the force of her turn nearly tossed her to the floor. She caught herself, and her breath, in the nick of time.

"How - - how did you get in here?" Alex was at her ear before the words were out.

"We haven't much time. About forty-five seconds until your entourage arrives to escort you upstairs, yes?"

"Yes, but how did you know -"

"Tut tut. Listen to me carefully. When you get home tonight I need you to pack a small bag. And by _small_ I mean something you can run with. Something light. Your ID, any important documents, any baubles that you hold dear. Not your entire jewelry box, princess, which I'm sure is massive. Just the things that matter. Bring it here with you."

"Why-?" she protested but Alex pointed at the clock and continued. He was running out of time. The hallway would only be clear for another thirty seconds.

"Tomorrow night when the show is over and you return to this room, dress as usual, in whatever hideous frock you would normally put on. Behave as usual - pouty, snooty, et cetera. And, above all, make sure you have that bag with you when you are escorted out to meet your fans."

"What's going to happen when I get outside, Alex?" Isabella asked, her voice beginning to tremble. Her fears were not allayed when she saw the sinister grin creep across his face.

"You leave that to me."

* * *

**I totally made up all that stuff about the inner workings of a theater in turn of the century London. I have NO idea if that's what it was like. lol.**

**Thanks again for sticking with me. xoxo.**


	49. Setting you free Pt 1

**"Learning to walk sets you free. Learning to dance gives you the greatest freedom of all: to express with your whole self the person you are." -Melissa Hayden **

It was nearly dawn and Alex was naked and pacing the floorboards. Once his lustful hunger for sex had been satisfied, the pesky demons had returned. He bit at his nails and rubbed his belly while he thought.

"Someone's going to recognize me."

Garrett lay on his back, sighing contentedly as he watched Alex stride around the room; admiring the way his muscles flexed and stretched, the confidence Alex gave off without trying. If it were up to him they'd never leave this place, this exact moment. It was official. Garrett was in love. He told Alex so last night as they made love. He hadn't meant to. He hadn't even realized he was feeling that way until the moonlight caught the beads of sweat as they rolled down the tip of Alex's nose and landed on his chapped lips. He'd looked into Alex's eyes staring down at him, surveying, analyzing, as though Alex were waiting for Garrett to make a statement of what the moment meant...and it just came out. What it meant to have Alex on top of him, inside of him, his partner, by his side every day, his heartbeat and breath and tongue and lips and voice and hair and scent, and everything about Alex led to one simple fact.

_Alexander._

_Yes?_ Alex stilled his thrusts and waited.

_I want you to know...um..._

_What is it?_

_I want you to know...I want to tell you that I love you._

"Stop staring at my _ass_ and start telling me not worry," Alex huffed, flopping back down on the bed. He crawled between Garrett's legs and rested his head on his chest. Garrett could feel Alex pouting. He laughed and ran his fingers through Alex's damp hair.

"Don't worry."

Alex snorted.

"Wanna go over the game plan one more time?"

Alex grunted.

"Wanna _change_ the game plan? And don't answer me with a noise."

Alex siiiiiiighed and stretched the length of Garrett's body. "Something's not right. It feels like we're missing something."

"Of course we're missing something. The ability to see into the future. There's no way of knowing what will happen once we put the 'plan' into motion. There's too many variables. What if Romanoff gets the shits during intermission? What if Isabella's lady in waiting takes her bodyguard into the dressing room for a shag and finds you hiding in her closet? What if -"

"Stop," Alex squirmed.

"Baby look, my job consists of signing in, delivering the correct goods, getting signature that the delivery was received, and signing out. Other than that, I could be anyone. If you're dressed like me and keep your head down, I don't think anyone will notice. It worked last night, didn't it? You were in and out in a second."

"Which is very _un_like me. As you well know, I usually take much longer," Alex winked. "But, seriously, once I get down there tonight, how am I going to get her out? And what makes you think she'll come willingly?"

"Then you take her against her will."

A giant smile finally spread across Alex's angular face. "And _that_ is why I love you. One of the reasons," he clarified.

"It will be after tonight's performance, obviously. Doing it before will cause chaos. There will be anarchy if the star turns up missing and the show doesn't go on. How about this..._I'll _make the champagne delivery while you're dropping off the wine. You sign out and I'll stay downstairs. If I'm caught before Isabella returns I can feign confusion, plead ignorance. I'll more than likely get the sack or a beating or both, but hey they won't kill me. Then, when Isabella returns to her dressing room after the performance -"

"Jump out of her closet and tie a bag over her head? She's followed by an entourage of helpers and bodyguards at all times."

"We only need a minute. Just enough time to get her out of the theater."

"To where? The cars will be waiting out back. There's a spotlight on the door. There's only one way out."

"I know another."

...

Edward spent most of the morning and early afternoon wandering aimlessly around the city without intention. A funk had descended upon him and it brought with it a sense of stagnation. It wasn't despair that he was feeling. He wasn't depressed or suicidal, and although he would never fully heal from losing Isabella and from the failure of their mission to get her back, he had risen above wallowing in self-pity. It occurred to him as he walked the barren streets of a city more foreign to him than Moscow that he was living with the remnants of a plan that hadn't come to fruition. The sensible choice would have been to pack up and go home, yet he continued to wake up day after day in a strange flat and go to a job that was meant to be temporary until he was reunited with Isabella. But they hadn't been reunited and here he remained. He had no desire to live in London if he wasn't living there with Isabella. He had no desire to play piano for uptight entitled assholes in the theater district unless he was doing it so he could be with Isabella. What would happen when the show closed and she left for Paris or Munich? Would he stay and build a life in London? He knew the answer to that.

He was going back to Moscow, with or without Alex.

After grabbing a late lunch/early supper from a street vendor, Edward returned from his walk to find the flat empty. Not just empty of people, but empty of _everything_. All of their belongings, both his and Alex's. Not that they had much to begin with, but all of what they had managed to accumulate over the past weeks and months had vanished without a trace. Every stitch of clothing. Every book. Even their few toiletries. The bed clothes and linens lent to them by the landlady had been stripped and folded and piled neatly on the mattress. Edward walked a small circle around the bare room and noticed a single sheet of cream-colored parchment laying atop the dresser. It took less than a second for him to recognize Alex's distinct handwriting.

He ran down the six flights of stairs to the lobby, nearly scaring the shit out of the desk attendant with his wild eyes and pale features.

"Room 65," he panted, the note crushed tightly in his fist. "Room...when...what time...?"

The young receptionist was bright enough to deduce Edward's question. She quickly leafed through the ledger and recited what she found without looking up.

"Room 65...ah yes, here...the key to Room 65 was returned to the front desk today at noon. The account was paid up to today's date and closed. Signed off on by a Mister Alexander Taylor. He mentioned that the spare key would be returned this evening -" she glanced at the clock. It was approaching 5pm. "By a -" she turned the page. "Mister Edward Cullen. Are you Mister Cullen?"

Edward nodded in the affirmative and slid his key across the desk. She paused for a moment, closed the ledger and regarded Edward quizzically. "Will there be anything else, sir?"

"Did he happen to mention...?" The edges of the balled up paper dug into Edward's sweaty palm. The receptionist stared at him with a vacant look of helpful confusion mixed with borderline fear. "Anything about...?"

"Sir?" she asked carefully. The gorgeous man standing in front of her seemed lost in thought. For months she'd watched him come and go at all hours of the day and night, often tired, often accompanied by the equally interesting sprite of a man who closed their room bill this afternoon. This afternoon that man stood in front of her with the boy who drove the beer wagon. She was officially perplexed.

Edward cleared his throat and smiled politely. "No, um, nothing. Nevermind. Thank you."

He walked out of the building with nothing but the clothes on his back, the few coins in his pocket, and the crumpled note in his hand. The fucking note. Edward took a deep breath and looked to the sky. The sun was setting. Time to go.

_Dammit Alex_.

...

Isabella did as she was told. She returned to her bedchamber the night Alex visited her with her orders in tow. After a quick bath she dismissed Jane and insisted on being left alone for the remainder of the night. Dinner was to be left on a tray outside her door. She would have no after dinner tea. She powdered her breasts and changed into a fresh dressing gown. She brushed her hair methodically for ten full minutes and let it cascade down her shoulders. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, concentrating on her breathing. Then she rifled through her bureau drawers until she found a small chiffon bag with a secure crystal clasp.

Why had Alex come for her? And why did he come and not Edward? The answer to that was simple. Edward's regal face was more well-known. He'd been her pianist for months. He was tall and lithe with shocking auburn hair. His features were otherworldly. Even in disguise he would be noticed. Heads would turn. He would be captured and killed by the same men who would have done just that if she hadn't traded herself for him in the warehouse. But where was he? Did he know Alex was doing this?

Isabella chewed on the inside of her cheek while she thought. He couldn't know. He believed it was over between them. That there was no hope. Her heart cracked and bled at the idea of Edward out in the world and thinking ill of her. And then there was Alex. What the hell was he doing risking his life sneaking around a theater filled with armed guards directed by Demetri to kill at the first sight of him or Edward Cullen? Isabella's skin prickled at the thought of that odious man. Demetri had officially gone off his rocker since they arrived in London. He met with his "staff"of hired hit men on a daily basis. Several of them had been at the warehouse the night she gave herself up, which meant they had the identities of Edward and Alex ingrained in their memories. They were the ones who patrolled the theater's perimeter. The guards who followed her every move were newcomers who'd been given detailed descriptions of the "targets" and instructions on how to act the moment they were found within spitting distance of the theater or Isabella or Romanoff himself. The thugs who roughed Edward up in the alley had actually given Edward an advantage by tipping him off. But as far as Romanoff was concerned, you can never be too careful. _These street rats have nothing to lose._

What was this all about? The secretive meeting in her dressing room? It was obviously something that had been methodically planned out. Alex dropped off the bottle of champagne at the exact time it had been delivered since opening night. How could he have known the delivery schedule? How did he get an identical crew uniform? How was it that he knew exactly how much time he had before she was to be escorted upstairs? Her head spun. She sat on the chaise lounge and tried to center her thoughts.

She came to the conclusion that none of it mattered. Details weren't important. What mattered was the end result and the end result was Edward. And if there was one thing Edward had on his side, it was a persistent and fiercely loyal friend.

Somehow she trusted Alex now more than ever before.

...

Alex pulled up his trousers. Garrett stood and wiped the corners of his mouth.

"Mmm, that's just what I needed," Alex hummed, lolling his head against the brick wall.

"Took the edge off, eh?" Garrett smiled, licking his salty lips.

Alex nodded lazily and pulled Garrett in for a languid kiss. "Indeed it did. Thank you."

A light breeze sailed through the alleyway.

"Time to go," Garrett mumbled against Alex's lips. He stuck his thumbs through Alex's belt loops and pulled him down the alley.

That evening Garrett made the champagne delivery without fuss. He entered Isabella's dressing room just as Charlotte exited. Isabella sat at her dressing table, as usual. She acknowledged him in the mirror with a slight raise of her painted brow. Garrett noticed the strained look on her face, the way her eyes darted to and fro, the slight tremble of her chin. But he said nothing. He set the bottle into the ice bucket. There was no further eye contact. He bowed his head and closed the door behind him.

Alex was signing out with the floor manager as Garrett walked through the lobby. They nodded and exited together through the glass doors. Out in the street they leaned against the wagon and let out a collective sigh of relief.

"_And now we wait."_

"_I'll drive the wagon down the block and park it out of sight."_

"_And then..."_

"_Yes."_

"_Be careful."_

"_Always."_

"_I love you."_

"_Always."_

_..._

Edward unfolded the note and read it again. He looked to his right then his left and bolted through the intersection.

The church tower bell chimed six times. _This is taking too long_. Edward picked up the pace.

...

"Flawless, absolutely flawless, my love. The applause was deafening," Demetri cooed in her ear as they walked the corridors to her dressing room. "What would you like to do tonight? Candlelight dinner? Moonlit stroll along the Thames?" His arm wound around her trim waist and held her tight. She felt the sting of bile burning its way up her esophagus. She pushed him away when they reached her door.

"I'd like to go home and go to bed. Alone," she added curtly and slammed the door in his face.

...

A crowd of fans had gathered at the back entrance of the theater tingling with anticipation. Their gazes focused on the one door from where the stars would emerge. They hadn't begun screaming yet. Their cheers were dull, not yet chants. The longer they were kept waiting, however, the more ravenous they'd become.

...

Traffic in the theater district was bumper to bumper. Edward made better headway on foot, weaving through the virtually parked cars. The honking blasted in his ears. His lungs were on fire but he kept running. He'd lost Alex's note about a mile back. It had been blown out of his hand by a rough gust of wind and was probably laying in a gutter somewhere. But it didn't matter. He knew where he was going.

...

"Ready to greet your fans, Miss Swan?"

She vaguely recognized the gentle voice addressing her. She had just finished changing out of costume and was still in the middle of re-dressing. Charlotte had left for a moment to find more bobby pins. She wasn't ready to greet her fans yet, so who was this - ?

She turned to find the delivery boy standing in the center of her dressing room still in uniform. The door behind him was closed and the back of a chair had been pushed under the doorknob.

Her skin prickled.

"Touch me and I'll scream," she warned, her wide eyes watching him in the mirror.

"There's no need to scream." He removed his cap so she could better see his face. "My name is Garrett. I'm part of the plan."

...

The bridge was in sight. It lit up the night sky and threw endless patterns of white stars onto the black water below. From where he stood Edward could see the span of the bascule being lowered after providing clearance for the boat traffic. He pushed the errant thoughts whirling through his mind aside and concentrated on the task at hand. Getting to the bridge.

...

"The plan," Isabella whispered. Her eyes darted to the vanity table where her clutch purse lay. "You know Alex."

"Yes."

"Where is he?"

There was a knock on the door and the sound of the knob twisting.

"Miss Swan?" It was Charlotte's voice coupled with more frantic turning.

"Miss Swan? Are you alright?" Her voice was rising in panic.

"Tell her you're alright," Garrett whispered.

_"I'm_ - I'm alright, Charlotte," Isabella croaked. The knob continued to twist as Charlotte tried unsuccessfully to get inside.

"Madam, what's going on? Why have you locked the door?"

"Tell her everything is alright," Garrett insisted. He circled the perimeter of the room.

"Everything is alright, Charlotte," Isabella answered. "I felt a bit sick a moment ago and made a small mess. I don't want anyone to see me like this. I'll only need a few moments to gather myself. Really, I'm alright."

"Shall I fetch a doctor? Or Master Romanoff?"

Garrett spun around and locked eyes with Isabella. He shook his head serious and slow.

"That won't be necessary," she called through the door. "Stay out there and do not allow anyone to disturb me. Do as I say." She looked directly at Garrett as she said these things. He nodded his approval at her choice of words.

"What do we do now?" she hissed. "We're trapped in here! I thought there was a plan! I did as I was told. I was to dress and greet my fans as normal. Now I'm locked in my dressing room with the delivery boy," she huffed in annoyance.

Garrett chuckled to himself. Alex was right. _Diva._ He pushed the heavy drapes aside and ran his hand along the wall. There was more commotion coming from the hall. More voices. Charlotte's mixed with others.

"What are you _doing_?" Isabella demanded in a hushed tone. "How are we going to get out of here? That's the only way out!"

Garrett ignored her trills and continued his investigation. He pushed aside her dressing table without warning. Startled, Isabella sprang to her feet. Before she could protest, Garrett began giving her orders.

"Now!" he growled when she didn't move. The friendliness had gone from his eyes. They were yellowed in their seriousness and now there was banging on the door. She recognized the sound. It was Demetri's hard fist.

_"ISABELLA! Unlock this door this instant or it will come crashing down!_" he bellowed. "_Your rudeness is unforgivable_!"

"He sounds mad," Garrett snorted. "You should put your fucking shoes on like I asked and come with me now. Don't forget your bag."

...

Edward stood in the middle of the bridge span looking down at the choppy water. The wind shrieked and ripped through his body. He held onto the railing for support. This is where he was supposed to be. He found the shadows and stood where he could watch the cars passing by. His nose was running. Strands of his hair blew into his eyes.

_Come on, Alex. Where are you?_

...

Garrett held aside the thick, heavy folds of ornate draperies covering the back wall of Isabella's dressing chamber to reveal a set of wooden doors.

"These here," he explained as he jimmied the lock with a Robbins and Dudley push dagger. "Open into an additional parlor that is currently being used for storage. I know this because I'm the _delivery boy._" He shot Isabella a sarcastic smirk for effect. _This delivery boy is going to save your life_. "It's really _really_ important that you do everything I say for the foreseeable future if you want to get out of here alive and see your Edward again - who is a _stunning_ man by the way." Garrett raised his eyebrows knowingly and Isabella felt her cheeks redden.

He punched the dagger deep into the lock and kicked the doors open with ease. "Shall we?" He held out his hand for her to take. Her eyes darted to the dressing room door which was now being thumped on relentlessly. It would soon fall under the force of the powerful blows and they would be caught. She knew the consequences of disobeyal. Demetri was enraged. There were more voices and footsteps and escalating anger that meant bruises and black eyes and whatever creative punishment his ego could conjure. Being caught now was not an option.

She nodded numbly. With her clutch in one hand she put her other inside Garrett's.

Seconds later the dressing room door came crashing down and Demetri stood in the center of an empty room.

...

The crowd's hysteria rose with each passing moment that Isabella Swan did not appear.

"Sir, if I may have a moment of your time..."

The half-driver/half bodyguard looked straight ahead.

"Excuse me, sir, I was wondering if you knew when Miss Swan will be coming out to greet her fans."

"Piss off."

"Gracious me, is that any way to talk to a patron of the arts?" Alex stood on the tiptoes of his polished shoes and surveyed the line of cars idling in wait. His gaze then fell of the luxurious vehicle they both stood in front of. "Is this her ladyship's chariot here, then?"

"Who the fuck wants to know?" the thick necked Cerberus snarled.

"Ah ah ah," Alex wagged his finger. "You might want to treat me with a bit more respect. I'd hate to have to shoot you in front of all these people."

The Cerberus laughed a phlegmy laugh, giving Alex just enough time to toss his cape over his shoulder and pull the pistol from inside his freshly pressed tuxedo jacket.

"Get in the car," Alex ordered. The Cerberus looked down at the gun pointed at his stomach and didn't move. Alex took a step closer. "I've got nothing to lose and I_ love_ attention. I'll give you one more chance to test me. Get in the fucking car."

...

"Get on my fucking shoulders!"

"I'm trying!"

"Try harder!"

"It's no use. I'll never fit through."

Without warning Isabella felt her nimble frame being lifted up towards the open window until it came within arms reach. She'd already stuffed her clutch between her breasts, freeing her hands to grab the lip of the ledge. When Garrett felt her feet leave his shoulders he looked up to see her already on the other side.

"Marvelous! Now see if you can find anything - a rock, a brick, anything - to smash the window." There was no way he could fit through the window like she had just done.

The sound of footsteps thundered in the distance.

"Isabella they're coming!"

"I don't see anything," she cried. "There's nothing out here but weeds and trash. Shit, Garrett, I don't know what to do..." She felt along the ground, squinting in the low light. She wasn't sure where she was. A wrinkle in time. A narrow slit between two buildings with grass and dirt and broken concrete under her feet. The ruckus was getting closer. She could hear it from her side of the wall. On the other side, where Garrett stood helpless, it was deafening. Men's voices...and barking.

"_Dogs_," Garrett muttered under his breath. "_Shit. They've got dogs._" The realization hit him that he might not make it. He was relying on a prima ballerina to smash a window with a brick so he could climb out to safety. That was funny. He had to laugh at that one.

"Garrett - "

The footsteps halted at the other end of the hallway from where he stood. Beyond that a door instantly broke down with a cracking shot. And then all was high-pitched noise and chaos all happening at the same time. Demetri's mad stare. His threats and orders. His men and their vicious dogs. All running at him at once. The window above him there one second and gone the next. Shattered around him like snowflakes made of glass. The dogs taking a swipe at his leg as he climbed up the radiator and dove through the gaping hole to the ground on the other side. There was no time to thank Isabella for her quick thinking. She'd found a large piece of broken pavement and had somehow found the strength to haul it through the window. He grabbed her hand, ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder from where he landed, and they ran.

Their side by side bodies narrowly fit through the unlit alleyway between the theater and the building next to it.

"Just follow me. Whatever you do, don't look back," Garrett said, urging her along. All was silence around them. A stark contrast to the chaos that ensued just seconds, what felt like hours, before.

Suddenly there was a light up ahead and the smell of fresher air. They ran towards what they hoped was freedom.

_Is that...is that my car?_ Isabella thought as they emerged from the alley onto the sidewalk.

The shining cream and brandy colored vehicle idled in the open air. Before Isabella could question what it was doing there, how it had gotten there, who was driving it and a slew of other questions, Garrett opened the passenger side door and pushed her in. She scooted over as fast as she could so Garret could follow her. Without a word he slammed the door shut and lurched the car into drive. They drove in silence for a few moments as Garrett navigated their way out onto the main street. Then from the backseat came the sound of fabric shuffling.

A shudder of terror shook her from the inside.

They weren't alone.

"Hello, Isabella," came a voice behind her head. She squealed in fright and huddled against the dashboard. Alex's face came into focus, smiling with glee. His hair was slicked and parted down the middle and he was wearing...a tuxedo? He was clean shaven and she swore she smelled cologne. A familiar scent. Where had she smelled that scent before? There was only one person she knew who wore that cologne. He sat next to Alex with the blade of a dagger pressed to his throat.

"That's right," Alex said, sensing her anxiety. "This is Felix. Felix, Isabella. Ah, but you already know each other, don't you? How silly of me, of course you do. In fact, you already know _me_ as well, don't you Felix?" Alex growled. That's when Isabella noticed he also had a gun pointed between Felix's ribs right where his lungs would be. Felix sat still as a glacier with real fear alive behind his eyes.

"I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance – oh it must be a good six months ago – when you were smashing my face in with the butt of your rifle. Don't you remember?" Alex seethed in Felix's ashen face. "Then again I must look much different to you now. Not nearly as bloody."

Felix swallowed but didn't speak. The dagger edge had made a small slit above his carotid artery. A thin trickle of blood leaked down his neck.

"Where are we going?" Isabella asked as the car jerked and swayed.

"Well, first we're going to pick Edward up on the bridge."

_Edward_. Her heart skipped a beat.

"And what are you going to do with _him_?"

"With who? Oh, with Felix! We're going to toss him in a bad part of town and let him find his way home," Alex smiled proudly. "But he's a big boy, he can handle it, innit that right, mate?"

"We're being followed," Garrett said cooly, snapping Alex out of his reverie.

...

Edward had lost the concept of time. To him the sky seemed lower. It touched the top of his head. If he looked down at the water for too long he'd swear he start flying. A deep chill set into his bones along with the worry and the doubt. What was he doing on this bridge? Waiting for a cryptic sign? As cryptic as Alex's note. _Follow Fleet St to Tower Bridge Road. Wait in the center for me to come for you_. He imagined what it would be like to live on a suspension bridge. Suspended in mid-air. Surrounded by the elements. Earth. Water. Air. And him in the middle.

This is what he was thinking about when he heard the crash.

* * *

**ZOINKS! I hate cliffies too but it's been waaaay too long since my last update and I wanted to keep those of you who are into this story, INTO IT as it comes to the end. This was supposed to be the last chapter before the epilogue, but as with everything in this story, it will be dragged out a bit longer. This is the second to last chapter before the epi. Thank you so much for your patience and love. xoxo.**


	50. Setting you free Pt2

**while you are away**  
**my heart comes undone**  
**slowly unravels**  
**in a ball of yarn**  
**the devil collects it**  
**with a grin**  
**our love**  
**in a ball of yarn**

**he'll never return it**

**so when you come back**  
**we'll have to make new love**

**- _Unravel_, Bjork**

* * *

**"No artist is ahead of his time. He is time; the others are just behind the times." -Martha Graham**

The five-passenger Touring vehicle was pegged as fast as her small cylinders and horsepower would allow. It shook and groaned as Garrett, sweat rolling down his nose, navigated the choppy streets of London like a pro; dodging pedestrians, carts and bikes, disobeying traffic signs and directional signals; doing his best to outrun the two passenger Ford roadster following behind them that had the ability to take curves a lot easier than their bulky Kissel Kar.

"That's one of Demetri's cars," Isabella noticed in the mirror. Garrett blew through an intersection to the shrieks of horns and angry shouts of passersby.

"He won't give up," Felix gasped. "You'll never escape him."

"Shut the fuck up!" Alex warned. "We know more about that psycho than you ever will." Alex tightened the vice-like choke hold he'd put Felix in. It was easier to hold both weapons that way but nearly impossible to move his head to see out the window. Garrett had a gun as well, which he'd handed to Isabella who had it pointed between Felix's eyes.

"Just dump him, Alex!" Isabella yelled. "Open the door and toss him out!"

"_He's_ not after _him_! He's after _you_ and he's coming to kill us all! We've got to keep going!"

"We're running out of gas," Garrett said from the front seat. "I can't shake them and we'll be at the bridge in a minute. What should I do? Alex?"

"Keep to the plan. Get Edward," Alex ordered. _He'll know what to do._

That's when they were hit from the side. The impact from the collision sent them into the path of oncoming traffic. Vehicles swerved as they whooshed by, horns blaring. Garrett maneuvered as quickly as he could, steering them back into their lane. The car that delivered the blow was identical to Demetri's and now paced two car lengths behind them.

As quickly as the incident occurred, it was over. Isabella regained her balance and stared at the crease between Felix's eyes. Alex concentrated on the knife handle gripped between his fingers. Garrett stayed focused on the road and that damn fuel gauge. The bridge was in their sights. Garrett swerved around a livery truck and sped down the span.

"Slow down," Alex said. "He'll be waiting on the trestle."

"Slowing down may prove difficult."

...

Edward turned towards the sound of incessant honking to find a luxury car speeding towards him with the back passenger door hanging open.

_Hm. That's odd_.

He took a tentative step off the sidewalk into the road.

The car barely paused long enough to snatch him up before taking off again, only to be cut off by another car and then boxed in by yet another. Edward managed to get the door closed around him without falling onto the pavement. His eyes focused in the new light to find Alex strong-arming one of Demetri's hounds, Isabella holding a revolver to his forehead and Garrett manning what was turning into his first ever car chase.

"_Isabella_," Edward began, breathless more from the mere sight of her than from being pulled off the street into a moving vehicle. She was as radiant as he'd allowed himself to remember. Her hair was mussed; falling out of the bun she'd carelessly pinned it in and spilling over her shoulders in dark waves like the ones he'd been staring into from atop the bridge for the past hour. Her cheeks were pink and healthy and her lips-

"So sorry to keep you waiting, love," Alex professed over Felix the hound's sweaty head. "But as you can see, we've run into a bit of an unexpected...oh let's just call it a _bind_, shall we? The plan had always been to free your darling Miss Swan here -" Alex nodded in Isabella's direction. To say Isabella was 'torn' at that moment would be an understatement. Her desire to climb over the seats and into Edward's arms was over-ridden only by the weight of the deadly weapon in her hands.

"It really was ingenious, if I do say so myself. A little sneaking here, a speck of confounding there. And you know how much I_ love_ playing dress up. Anyhow, once we had Miss Swan out of that rascal Romanoff's claws we were to rendezvous at Garrett's flat where we would plan our next steps. Simple, no? Alas, we are being followed by a pack of wolves." He pointed out the back window at the persistent vehicle whose front bumper periodically rammed into the back of their own.

"We're too heavy," Garrett said. "We'd go faster if we were lighter."

"Toss him," Isabella insisted, waving her gun in Felix's face.

"My dear, sweet princess, I am proud of your tenacity but when did you become such an animal?" Alex asked with a bemused look of shock on his face. "Poor Felix here will surely be run over by multiple vehicles and mangled beyond recognition if we were to do something as beastly as that. No no, we will lose them as soon as we're in the streets again. Isn't that right, my love?"

Edward opened his mouth to shout a sarcastic, _How the hell should I know, Alex? What have you gotten us into this time?_ when he realized that the question had not been posed to him. Even in the heightened state of danger that no doubt included eventual disastrous consequences, Edward could sense the love and admiration that radiated from his best friend and former lover directed to the man in the front seat. It made Edward smile. He was happy for his friend to finally be in the right kind of love. It was the same love he still had for Isabella - a surge of emotions so intense and relentless that they would paralyze him if he let them. He stole a glance in her direction to find her doing the same. Maybe even thinking the same? He could only hope. She held their gaze as long as she could before her hands began to shake. She flicked her eyes away from his and refocused her concentration on Felix, hoping Edward had felt in her eyes all she left in her heart.

"We're coming to the end of the bridge now," Garrett informed them. "Which way, Alex? Which way? I'm not leading them to my fucking flat!"

"I'd never have you do that, love. Take the ramp!"

"Traffic's slowing! We can't give them a chance to get next to us!"

"They're speeding up! They're already on both sides!" Isabella cried.

"Shut up, dear! ...Edward, your input please?"

"You have to take the ramp to riverbank. There's no other choice. They've boxed us in." Edward reached out and placed his hand on Isabella's arm. Her head snapped in his direction, her eyes wide with fear for what would become of them. He rubbed her skin with his thumb and felt her relax slightly under his touch. She nodded and he carefully slipped the gun from her hand, keeping it pointed at Felix's nose.

Edward did the simple math in his head. Three identical vehicles followed them. Each containing two passengers. Each passenger had the ability to hold two guns – the possibility of twelve weapons pointed at them. Their car held five passengers including one dainty ballerina and one thug from the opposing team. Between them they had two guns and one blade. Edward cursed silently and then made a decision.

"The chase is over. Garrett is going to stop the car." Edward bobbed the barrel of the gun in Felix's face. "You. You're going to get out -"

"Are you mad!" Alex interrupted, but Edward continued.

"We're running out of gas and we've run out of time. The men in those vehicles - your colleagues no doubt, perhaps even your boss - they want us dead, yes? We've become a persistent nagging thorn in the side of the old man." Edward cocked his head and grinned with all his teeth. "Me in particular."

"_You're Edward Cullen_," Felix gurgled under the pressure of Alex's grip. Alex had his own slim body pinned against the passenger door, leveraging the full force of his entire weight directly onto Felix's neck, which was a breath away from snapping like a twig should they hit a cobblestone at the wrong angle. Felix's eyes widened with each word Edward spoke until they were all white and bulging out of their sockets. He started to struggle inside Alex's hold.

"I recognize you. We've had meetings about you."

"Is that right? And what were you told in those meetings?"

"Kill on sight."

"Good thing I'm the one holding the gun then."

"Shoot me. Do it. Show them you mean business," Felix taunted as he squirmed. "Show them how dangerous you are. He doesn't give a shit about his men unless they're on his side. Killing me won't save you."

"Edward," came Alex's much quieter, much more concerned voice as he tried to hold Felix still. "What are you doing?"

"Just toss him, Edward. _ Please,_" begged Isabella, her face lined with worry.

"No. He's the only thing we have that they don't." _ And he's scared, _Edward thought to himself. _And he's lying._ _There's something more_. Blurred memories from the night in the warehouse. Before Isabella and Alex had come. There was interrogation first in a small room. Romanoff and his men had him surrounded. There was something familiar in their eyes. Something shared. Something more than employer/employee or master/servant. There was a loyalty that Edward hadn't digested until now._  
_

"Felix..." Edward rolled the name around in his mouth and let the words roll off his tongue with a bemused tinge. "Would you mind telling me your last name?"

Felix stilled and didn't reply. He didn't need to. Edward already knew the answer. Isabella's stomach dropped. Her palms grew sweaty. She tried not to show the revelation on her face but she knew in an instant what all these years she'd never taken the time to see. Something Demetri had carefully kept from her.

_Romanoff. _

_Felix Romanoff._

_They're brothers._

"It doesn't matter," Felix snarled, confirming the unsaid. "This is business. There's no place for brotherly love in business."

"We'll see," said Edward.

Then, without warning, the toe of Felix's boot freed from the tether of Alex's bent leg and jerked straight up, sailing through the air towards the roof. On its way it made contact with the underside of Isabella's jaw, hurling her backwards into the front seat where she collided with the dashboard with a cry and a thud. Garrett jerked the wheel and pulled over to the side of the road. Hastily putting the car in park he leaned over and tended to the blood gushing from Isabella's mouth. There was a roar and Edward flew across the seat to throw a punch and help Alex regain control of Felix. The gun he'd taken from Isabella fell to floor unnoticed. Felix wriggled his left arm free as Alex increased the pressure of the choke hold. The car rocked with the force of battle. Felix sputtered and spat and thrashed, kicking Edward in the chest, reverse headbutting Alex in the teeth. There was tearing at hair and and skin and seat cushions and then a gunshot and the whizz of air past Edward's ear followed by the sound of broken glass. The bullet shattered the window behind Edward's head. Felix grabbed hold of Alex's wrist causing the barrel to wave about. And again, another bullet this time into the roof. More struggling, shuffling, groaning and then a slash and the sound of ripping fabric and a weak yelp. Edward retrieved the gun at his feet and pointed it at Felix...who stared back at him holding a bloody knife.

"_Alex!_" Garrett cried, helplessly pawing behind for Alex's hand.

"Everyone stay calm," said Felix, calmly waving the blade. "Here's a _new_ plan. You're going to throw your gun out the window. Then you're going to let me out without a fuss. Otherwise I make an identical incision on the other side of your friends belly and let the rest of his guts spill out."

Alex lay slumped against the door, his head lolling listlessly to the side, blood soaking through his white tuxedo shirt.

Edward lunged forward only to have the tip of the knife pointed in his face.

"_Edward!_" cried Isabella and the blast of another gun shot rang through the confined space. Isabella ducked instinctively. Headlights shone behind them. The crunching of tires on gravel. The slamming of multiple car doors. She pressed her face into the crack between the door and the front seat. The hum in her ears made it near impossible to hear her own voice.

_"Edward! Talk to me!"_

_"I'm here, I'm here baby. Stay down."_

_"Are you shot?"_

_"No, It wasn't me. It was Garrett. He shot Felix. Stay down. They're coming."_

She crouched lower, pressing herself tightly into the space under the dash. Then the sound of Garrett's door opening, the sound of two shots coming from outside, the roar of gravel and engines and angry voices and running...and Edward's voice closer, then growing further away. She brought her head up until it was even with the window but it was too dark too see anything but wavy shapes. Another shot and she ducked down as her window shattered. Shards of glass rained down on her hair and arms. More shouting and muffled voices. She crawled into herself and rocked like a baby.

More shots and the sound of a car peeling off. Voices trailing away. Headlights disappearing.

"Alex are you there?" she whispered. "Can you hear me? Are you alright?" Her questions went unanswered.

Her legs were falling asleep underneath her. An eerie silence had descended into every crevice.

She felt for the door handle and braced herself for what she might find waiting on the other side. In a flash she pushed it down shoved the door open and tumbled onto the stubby grass. She stayed low, pressed to the side of the car with her skirt bunched around her knees. The air smelled like foul fog and river stench. The shore was near. She could her the water lapping in the distance. She held her breath while her eyes adjusted to the darkness, seeking out the slivers of light. Where was everyone? Were they all dead? Would she find their carcasses scattered across the field? Should she call out for Edward? Or anyone? Oh god she was so fucking scared.

Something was moving. _It's only the breeze rustling the leaves in the trees_, she thought. _Or an animal rummaging through the woods for food. _Then a body knelt down in front of her and a familiar face came into focus. His eyes were shadowed but there was no mistaking their beauty. He smiled at her and in that instant she knew for sure.

"Edward! Oh thank god! Oh my love." She climbed all over him, smothering his face, his lips, his cheeks, his eyes, with fevered kisses. He was warm. His heart still beat. Blood moved in his veins. She'd never let him out of her sight again as long as she lived.

He smiled against her open mouth and whispered, "_You're alive_."

"Of course I'm alive. I stayed in the car like a coward while you fought."

"You did what I asked," he sighed. "Thank you for that."

They were quickly joined in the grass by Garrett. Isabella gave him a weak smile that he did not return. He was sweaty and dirty and out of breath. His wild eyes searching, scanning the woods on all sides.

"The other one ran into the woods but he won't get far." Garrett spat into the dirt.

"And the one that drove away?" Edward asked.

Garrett shrugged. "Tail between his legs. Never got out of the car."

"How's your shoulder?"

"Hurts like hell."

"What happened to his shoulder?" Isabella asked, suddenly too intimidated by Garrett to address him herself.

"Demetri stabbed him."

"It's ok," Garrett said in response to the horrified look on Isabella's face. "Edward shot him for me."

"Unfortunately he got me first."

"Wait a second! He shot you?" Isabella cried. "You've been shot? Edward why didn't you tell me? Where?"

"It's fine." He took her hand and put her palm to the side of his head so she could feel the cut. It was moist and oozing but not deep. "See? Just a flesh wound."

She nodded, satisfied. "But what about Alex?"

"We need a hospital," Garrett said, motioning to the car, his face contorted in grief and pain. "I did what I could...there's so much blood."

"And Felix?" Isabella asked, cringing at the thought of Alex in the backseat with a dead body.

"Dump him. Leave him with the others." Without another word Garrett stood and returned to the car.

"My God. _Others_. Edward. What happened? Is everybody dead?"

Edward wound his arms around her slim waist and brought her onto his lap. Taking a deep breath he told her what had transpired just moments before. With every word she gripped tighter to his forearm, her nails digging into the fabric of his worn woolen coat. To keep from passing out she focused on pure things like the acrid scent of his sweat, the dewy wetness of his breath, the cloud canopy of sheets they would lie under after they'd made love - -

"...They're all dead or run off with injuries that will finish them before dawn. There were more than we thought. More cars, more men, more guns coming straight for us. In the field you can't tell one man from another, it's too dark, but I knew where Garrett was all the time. He's a good shot. And once we got Demetri it was all over."

And that seemed to satisfy her. She stared quietly into the darkness with stillness and calm resignation.

"Are you alright? Isabella?"

"You killed Demetri."

"I did."

"Show me."

"Isabella, I-"

"I want to see him. Please. Quickly."

He acquiesced with a small sigh and helped her to her feet.

...

"Are you angry?" he asked.

She crossed her arms and chewed contemplatively on her bottom lip. "About?

He couldn't help but laugh at that one. Demetri's supine body was laid out on the grubby grass before them. At first glance he appeared to be asleep in his tuxedo were it not for the single gunshot hole in the center of his forehead. A bullet Edward put there.

_Fuck_, he thought, staring down at the man he killed. _It wasn't supposed to be this way_.

"I'm sorry, Isabella." His tone was morose. "You shouldn't be here. Someone like you should not be subjected to this."

"Someone like me? And what am I like, Edward? Hm? I'm not as fragile and dainty as everyone thinks. I've seen my share of death and sorrow and suffering. You of all people should know that."

"I do know that. I do. It just seems like I created so much more of it for you."

"Nonsense. You've _ended_ it for me." She laced her fingers through his and glared down at the lifeless body of the man who for years held her under his hard thumb with a combination of intimidation, fear and flattery. She used to think that she owed him for all that he'd done for her. He'd plucked her out of poverty, given her shelter, clothing, food, the opportunity to dance, to be trained by the elitist of the elite, and to perform for them. But what had she given up? Freedom, self-respect, true love, choice, and the one man who represented all of those things; everything pure and true and good. The one man who would die for her, who would never expect her to give up her life for him.

She was free.

"Goodbye, Demetri." There was nothing else she wanted to say. Nothing else that was deserving of the precious moments that could be spent getting Alex to a hospital.

"Let's get back to the car."

Garrett had already been under the hood and started the engine. Other than the broken windows and bullet holes, the car was in fine shape. He dumped Felix's body out onto the grass and had Alex spread across the seat, bandaging his wound with strips of cloth from his own shirt.

The soft snorts of labored breathing. The metallic smell of blood so strong you could taste it on your tongue.

"Alex. It's me, it's Garrett. We're getting you to a hospital."

Isabella climbed into the passenger's seat.

Edward took the wheel. "Stay back there with him. I'll drive. We have to get out of here anyway. Our little show is bound to have attracted attention. They'll be cops swarming any minute." Edward smiled weakly and shifted the gear into drive. "You stay strong, Ally. It's going to be alright. Just hold on."

He wanted to believe his words, but the sight of Alex laying motionless in the backseat plugged up with soaked bandages sent a deep shiver of dread straight to his core. And he'd seen his share of Alex weak and he'd seen his share of Alex sick, so sick with pneumonia and that persistent bloody battle with what should have been diagnosed as the early stages of consumption. But this, this was something else altogether. This was a different shade of pale. This was a finite shade. He hoped he could drive fast enough.

And then came a small sound, like the mewling of a kitten, but one determined to be heard.

"no."

Edward slammed on the brakes even though they'd barely moved. Isabella squealed and turned around in her seat. Garrett sucked in a gasp of air.

Alex had lifted his head. His eyes were open, bleary but open. He gave Garrett the faintest hint of a smile and then repeated, "no."

"What do you mean, no?" Garrett asked incredulously. "Alex, we're - "

"stop."

"Alex," added Edward. "We're going to get help."

"you're not taking me anywhere."

"We can't leave you here!" he cried out with exasperation. Christ on a stick! Even on death's door Alex managed to be infuriating!

"That's _exactly_ what you're going to do. It's over," Alex insisted. "Do you understand?"

"It's not over." No. Edward wouldn't hear of it. He wouldn't listen to Alex talk like this. He turned and stared out the windshield. No.

"You stubborn mule. Look at me._ Look at me, dammit_," Alex wheezed.

"Edward, look at him," pleaded Garrett, who'd moved to sitting on the floor by Alex's feet.

Isabella cupped her hand underneath Edward's quivering chin. She felt it damp with his warm tears. He was crying. "_Edward_," she said.

He shook his head no. No he wouldn't watch his friend die. No. Not his Alex. "_I can't. I'm sorry._" He took her hand and pressed it to his trembling lips. She didn't push him. He needed her to not push him and she didn't. He loved her all the more for knowing what he needed.

The persistent kitten persisted. "get out of this car."

"NO!" Edward shouted. Garrett was silent. Silently crying at Alex's feet. "We're not leaving you here!"

"you have to."

"No! We can fix you!"

"can't be fixed."

"Alex, you're hurt, you don't know what you're saying."

"it's you who doesn't know what they're saying. you killed a man, Edward. an important man. romanoff is dead and you're a peasant. we're all peasants now, even your lady godiva there."

"So what do we do?"

"get out of this car, this car that we _stole,_ and run. run away and don't look back."

...

Edward and Isabella stood hand in hand. The sounds of sirens could be heard in the distance. They watched as Garrett emerged from the car with a tear stained face. He walked to the bushes, collapsed in the long grass and buried his head between his knees.

Isabella let go of Edward's hand and disappeared inside the car. The sirens were getting closer. She emerged moments later, wiping her eyes but with a smile. She gave Edward a nod and joined Garrett in the grass.

It was his turn now. With a heavy sigh he took the few interminable steps towards the car.

"whose idea was this? eh? these last rites? yours?" Alex scolded once the door had closed and Edward was seated next to him on the blood soaked upholstery. "you sentimental fool." He barely had the strength for breath, 90% of his blood lay pooled on the carpet, yet he could still be a smart ass. Edward chuckled and took Alex's hand in his. It was cold.

"I'm going to miss you, Alexander."

"i know."

"I love you."

"shh."

"I mean it.'

"so do i."

"I'm so sorry."

"these are all things that don't need to be said. i know. you know i know. go now and live. it's all for nothing if you don't."

His eyelids fluttered and closed. Edward jolted upright, revolted by the smell of rotting innards. He leaned in closer to his emaciated friend with his cold purple lips and soft blue cheeks. Death was right outside the door, waiting to come in. One final gasp and it was done.

_No, Alex, no, don't go_.

...

Isabella didn't need more than the expression on his face to know the answer to the question on her tongue.

Edward walked slowly, stiffly, his hands stuffed in his pockets, covered in blood.

_Shaking him wouldn't wake him up._

The sirens were around the corner now. Edward didn't care. Let them come. Let them find the bodies. What were they to do now? Return to Moscow? Turn themselves in? Run for the rest of their lives?

He felt a slight tug on his arm. Then a soft flute-like voice near his ear. Her warmth, her body next to his; destruction surrounded them but she'd survived. He turned to her. There was blood on her lips that he hadn't seen before. Bruising and swelling around her jaw from where Felix kicked her in the face, and yet she was smiling, gazing up at him with those molten chocolate eyes. He whisked her from her feet and gathered her in his strong arms, the weight of reality crashing down on him. She smelled like pine and camphor oil and... _Oh my dear sweet Isabella. Forgive me. You're my everything, my reason for living, if I had lost you I don't know what I would have done, how I would have gone on._

He whispered into her hair and pressed her against his chest with all his might. _Are you real? Please be real._

(Garrett stuffed a handkerchief into the gas tank, took a match out of his pocket, and lit it. Then lit another and tossed it through the passenger side window.)

And she clung to him, tears streaming down her face. She wanted every part of him closer. She wanted to marry him on that hilltop across the river Thames where they stood to watch the flames lick the night sky. Tendrils of smoke filled the air and blew over the city skyline. It was impressive and poetic.

"Look," Isabella said, showing Edward the designs they drew in the air; music notes and pointed toes. "He's dancing." Dancing to the end of love.

**THE END**

* * *

**Finally! But yes there will be an epilogue, just cuz I want to do one. A million thank-you's for a million reasons. I really do love this story no matter the number of reviews or the length of time it took me to put it up, so thank you for letting me share it. xoxo.**


	51. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

Edward and Isabella stood side by side under a cloudless sky and watched as their friend's collapsed one by one. Alice went first, as was to be expected. Her high-pitched cries were muffled into Jasper's shoulder as he bent down to join her on the porch steps and to hold her while they grieved. Tanya sank more slowly, gathering her skirts under her trembling legs. She held onto the railing for support as the strength left her body and the sobbing overtook her. The rest of the boys, they scattered. Fists to their teeth, eyes to the sky, they kicked and swore and blotted at their red eyes with the backs of their wrists. Isabella had wanted to be the one to break the news, to say the awful words, but Edward insisted that it come from him. He knew she wanted to protect him; to be the one to face the brunt of their wrath once the crying subsided and they had time to fully process what happened.

_"It's my fault he's gone. Let me tell them, Edward. Let me take responsibility for what I have done."_

But of course he wouldn't listen. As far as he was concerned she had been through enough pain to last ten lifetimes. She had traded her happiness for his safety on numerous occasions. He had followed her when she told him to stay away and Alex had forced his hand and refused to let him give up his fight for her. For them.

Here they stood, together hand in hand. They had won. Alex's death hadn't been for naught. In Edward's eyes and heart, Isabella's penance had ended.

And after all, there wasn't much that needed be said. The wobbly screen door of the house he once called home creaked open at the sight of their arrival on the lawn. The household shuffled onto the porch with stunned expressions of elation at the sight of the weary travelers who had been gone so long, only to be confronted with drawn faces still wearing traces of grief, forcing them to acknowledge that one member of the group was missing.

There was only one question that hung in the air half-asked.

_"Where's – ?"_

…

On the outside the house looked the same: peeled paint, cock-eyed shutters, bent foundation. But once they stepped foot indoors Edward sensed the dramatic transformation that had taken place in his absence. It wasn't immediately obvious to the untrained eye, the eye that hadn't spent day and night within its walls. It was in the texture of the air; in the nature of the dust particles that swirled in errant directions.

"Things have changed," he muttered to no one in particular.

"You noticed," Tanya replied, heading for the cabinet and a familiar teacup. "We had to."

"Why?"

"Men came for money. Money we didn't have." _Because you left and took two salaries with you. "_So we had to give them what we did have."

Edward looked through the doorframe of the kitchen into the living room and scanned the inventory. It was a massive room now, without...

"The radio." _ We used to dance around it._

And…

"The piano. Shit, Tanya you let them take the piano?"

"_Let them_? Jesus, Edward, it was stolen anyway. And who was going to play it with you gone? Jacob?" she laughed. She put the kettle on and lit the flame. Edward paced in a daze through the room where he had spent so many –

"Oh god the turntable. They took the records as well? What have you been doing to pass the time?"

"I read. Alice knits. The boys...well, they're gone a lot. Working odd jobs."

Edward sat at the kitchen table now, his head in his hands, his fingers raking through his long, unruly hair in need of a washing. His thoughts grew dark. He'd left them. His friends, his family. He'd left them without a thought as to how they would survive, how they would carry on without him. He was a monster.

"I'm so sorry, Tanya. I never thought…I didn't think about how our absence would effect…"

Tanya's touch brought him back.

"No. None of this maudlin behavior, my dear. You've come back to us. You're safe. Don't think we ever forgot how you've always been there. How every morning you would get up and go to work, whether it was light or dark, raining or snowing, whether you were sick or tired, and how every night you came back and put your wages on the table without a word." She gripped his hand and stared into his eyes with meaning. "You saved us every day. It was time for us to learn what it would be like without you. And learn we did, that's for certain."

Isabella's heart ached at the scene playing out in front of her. She squeezed herself more into the corner between the cabinet and the stove so they wouldn't realize she was there watching and listening to their mutual confessions.

"It was Alex, too. When he wasn't sick he worked harder than us all."

"He was dying, Edward."

"We're all dying," Edward snorted rudely.

"He was dying faster than us all."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly. The one time we got him to go to the hospital and the other time when the doctor visited here. …Consumption, Edward. Tuberculosis?"

"Why did no one tell me for sure?"

"Why do you think?"

"Did _he_ know?"

She nodded.

Alice glided into the room with Jasper in tow. She looked like she'd just seen a ghost.

"There's a boy outside. Standing in the drive. He looks lost."

Isabella twirled around to look out the window. Her eyes widened and her heart raced at the sight of the disheveled dark-haired boy with the faded rucksack on his shoulder.

"He's here. He's come," she said to herself, her fingers gripping the counter. Then louder, with joy. "He's here! Edward, he's come after all!"

Edward launched from his chair and joined her at the window. He nosed into her hair, making her giggle, and kissed her warm temple. She was right. He'd come.

"Who, Edward? Who is it?" Alice insisted.

He turned to her with Isabella's hand in his own, bringing her knuckles to his lips and kissing them before answering.

"Garrett."

…

"I wasn't going to come. I never thought I'd make it. It's so different here. The language and…" He attempted to bring the mug to his lips without spilling it all over the table with shaking hands. "I followed you most of the way, from a distance. I didn't want you to know I was there, in case I wanted to bail out and go back. Which I did. Twice. But I never made it to the border before turning back. There's nothing in London for me now. Nothing without him. Everything reminds me."

"Wait a tic. Is he talking about _Alex_?" Tanya asked without a speck of sarcasm, which only served to make the table erupt in the first sounds of laughter since they'd arrived.

"Yes he's talking about Alex, Tan," Edward clarified once he'd caught his breath. Isabella was practically sitting in his lap, her arms around his neck, her head resting on his strong shoulder.

"Our Ally had quite the effect on him. I daresay it was love at first sight for them both." Edward whispered the rest of his thought in Isabella's ear. "_Something I'm all too familiar with, my eternal love_."

Isabella hummed and sighed in his perfect ear, "Same."

"They were in love?" Alice asked from her spot at the table next to Jasper.

"I was," Garrett answered without pause. "There was nothing about him that I didn't love. Nothing that would have kept me away from his side for a moment."

What was there to say in response to a sentiment like that? Would it be rude to join in? Ruder to remain quiet? Edward tightened his grip around Isabella's waist. Held her closer, ever closer, never close enough. Jasper leaned in and kissed the shell of Alice's ear.

Tanya finally spoke. "You can stay for as long as you like. Forever. You have his room."

"Pardon? …Alex's room? Where he…slept?"

"Among other things," she winked.

"Are you sure it's…I mean, he was your…I wouldn't want…"

"We're sure," Alice interrupted. "It would be a shame for it to lay empty."

"None of us could ever take it," Tanya added, with a sideways glance in Edward's direction.

"Thank you," Garrett answered with tears in his eyes.

...

It was dark in the house. A familiar quiet lay all around her. She was in Edward's room again. In his bed with his sleeping body next to hers lightly snoring. She counted each of his ribs as they stretched and shortened under his perfect pale skin. Being with him, naked with him, free - it was bliss just like she remembered. He still slept on his back with one arm slung over his head. The other draped over his chest. Her place was curled up against his side, their legs tangled, the steady breath from his nostrils in her hair. It was all so fucking beautiful and perfect. She would never leave him again. They would never be apart. This exquisite man was hers and he loved her with all this heart.

Tears trickled down her cheek and she wiped them quickly away, unsure where they'd come from. She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest; the overwhelming urge to sob had startled her. She couldn't go back to that place where she woke up alone and afraid_. It's ok, Isabella, you're safe_, she told herself. _He's here. He hasn't gone._

She dressed and closed the bedroom door behind her without a sound and padded down the hall towards the kitchen.

The light was on as it often was. One of the boys must have forgotten to shut it.

_Usually Alex._

Tanya was at the stove in her nightgown and slippers.

"Hello, Isabella," she said without turning. "You're up."

"I can't sleep."

"Laying next to Edward I'm not surprised," she said under her breath, but Isabella caught the words and her tone. Tanya walked to the table with a single mug of tea.

"Me either," she added, blowing on the steam. "Sleep, that is." Her shockingly blond hair was pulled back from her face in a loose bun. Her face was flawless, her skin pink and clean. How was it that she remained single in a house full of men? Unless…

"Tanya," Isabella began, suddenly nervous to ask a question that had been hanging around like an elephant in the room. "You and Edward…have you two…ever…well, I suppose it's none of my…nevermind."

"Isabella, are you about to ask me what I think you're about to ask me?" She was laughing now, her hand over her mouth to mute the sound. "Sweetie, I am the _last _person Edward has ever had _any_ interest in."

"But you're beautiful. More than beautiful."

"When have looks had anything to do with who Edward falls in love with? When has that been part of his criteria? You know him better than that," Tanya scolded sweetly. "And if it _were_, have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You've got us all beat."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult you –"

"Darling, let me tell you a story about what the world was like before you ever knew there was a man called Edward Cullen." She pursed her lips and smirked. "Once upon a time there was Alex and Edward, and then there was everyone else. The End."

Isabella smiled meekly. Yeah, she could see that.

"When they broke up, the female species jumped for joy. Then _you_ came along and everything changed. Edward Cullen was once again off the market and the window had closed for good. You're it, my dear. There will never be anyone else for him."

"Did you try? To be with Edward. After Alex and before me?"

"No baby, I didn't try. I'm more the suffer in silence type." Tanya kept her emotions close to the hip with even her closest friends. There was no way in hell she'd divulge to Isabella the extremely private and more than mildly embarrassing conversation with Edward where she professed her undying...whatever it was…to him before he left for London.

_I don't want to lose you. I can't. I don't know what I'd do if I never saw you again. _

"I see the way the boys look at you," Isabella went on. "Paul and Sam, and especially Jake."

"Nonsense."

"It's true. They adore you."

"Why are you saying this to me?"

"I, uh…I don't know. Isn't this how girls talk?"

"Is it?"

"I don't know. I've never had a real girlfriend before. Never had a friend period, before Edward."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Tanya smiled sadly. As much as she wanted to and as much as she still wished she could – she did not dislike Isabella Swan. Oh there was a time when she blamed her for everything - for having Edward in all the ways she wanted him, for putting him in danger, for taking him away. There was a moment or two when she absolutely loathed the stuck-up nymphish dancer traitor who had weaseled her way into their lives.

But now, this night, sitting in the warm kitchen that had seen more drama between its walls than Versailles, they were just two women with two separate pasts that were now forever connected.

"Please don't hate me," Isabella said softly.

"You're just a girl, Isabella. A girl who has had terrible things happen to her, and wonderful things, too. How could I hate you?"

"I told Edward it would be better if I didn't come back here. That you wouldn't understand. That you would blame me for Alex. That you _should_ blame me. We didn't even bring his body back. We couldn't..."

"There wasn't anything you could have done to stop Alex from doing anything where Edward was concerned. Alex loved Edward so much. And Edward loves you and that's all that matters to us. It's all that mattered to Alex, too, believe it or not. We had our battles, Alex and I, and they've always been over Edward."

"Why?"

"When Edward gives his heart, he gives it fully. When he wants to be with someone, he wants to be with only that person and no one else. That's why Edward hasn't had many relationships. When he gives his heart, he takes it seriously. Just as seriously as when someone gives him theirs. It's heavy, and it's not for everyone. It definitely wasn't for Alex's wandering eyes. As deeply as he was in love with Edward, he didn't have that mechanism that allowed him to fight off temptation."

Isabella puffed out the long breath she'd been holding and shook her head in disbelief. "I can't imagine anyone or anything better than Edward."

"Well believe me, my dear, he feels the same about you. ...Isabella? You're shaking."

She hadn't noticed it. Maybe because it had lately become a part of her daily life. The shakes, shallow breaths, quick jolts of intense fear that shot her upright and sent her eyes darting to and fro.

"I'm sorry, it's still so real, so close. It's easier when Edward is next to me."

"Will you tell me what happened?" Tanya's eyes were kind and Isabella could see nothing in them that should keep her from talking. She took a deep breath and began.

_**London**_

Edward picked up a discarded copy of _The Illustrated London News_ out of a trash bin, cringing when he saw the front page: a detailed drawing of the horror at the riverfront. Tears pricked his eyes but he willed himself not to cry in the street in broad daylight, not even as he stared down at the flames and charred remains depicted in black and white. It was a fine drawing of the Thames. Very lifelike, very real, but he had his own pictures, colorful ones complete with sound and smell whenever he closed his eyes.

He folded the newspaper under his arm and bought an apple from a street vendor. He would read the article. He would show it to Isabella. They would put it in the pile with the others they had collected over the last few days.

Edward had been released from the hospital that same night with barely a handful of stitches needed to close the wound from where Demetri's bullet grazed his temple. Garrett's arm would be in a sling for a few weeks while his shoulder healed. Isabella's split lip from Felix's boot and her swollen jaw from the same were cleaned and would heal on their own. They were all free to go by morning light.

"Are we going to be arrested?" Garrett asked as they were about to part ways. "We shouldn't have come here. Three bloody people walk into a hospital not far from where a fucking massacre just took place? I think the authorities are on their way."

"It was either that or we bled to death. There's no hiding what happened, no matter what Alex says - - _said_," Edward corrected.

"What did he say?" Garrett's eyes were still bloodshot from crying. To say it had been a painful few hours for the mild-mannered young man would be an understatement, but he was doing his best to be strong. After all, that's what Alex would have wanted.

"He said we should run. Go into hiding. I shot Romanoff and –"

"No one knows that," Isabella interrupted, squeezing Edward's hand in hers. "No one will ever know for sure what happened out there. And it doesn't matter. I will go to the police and the press. They will believe what _I _say. And I won't run. I won't hide. I won't pretend or be scared anymore. I want this to be over and I want us to go home."

"But there were witnesses. At the theater. They saw me," Garrett insisted.

"No, they saw_ me_ being kidnapped by a man. Any man. And unless I identify you, you could have been anyone. I was threatened. You and Edward saved me. That's the story and it's not a lie. You are both heroes."

...

**_HEROES!_**

Isabella giggled at the headline in her lap. "That's a new one." She turned the thin, yellowed page with a sigh.

"Well? Isn't it the truth?" the handsome man stretched out next to her asked sweetly. He pulled her petite body across his bare chest and hummed as she read.

"Mmm, it says here that you took a bullet for me." She stroked her fingers lightly through his fine chest hair.

"Also true." He pushed down the strap of her nightgown and cupped her breast. Then he kissed her shoulder once, twice. "What do you want to do today?" The sun was shining. There was no reason to stay inside.

"Mmm," she pondered, her long brown hair splayed across his chest. 'You're not going to like it."

"Tell me."

"I want to make love."

"Ah, and remind me why I'm not going to like that?" he laughed.

"It's what I want us to do after that you're not going to like."

"We're not going to lay here on sticky soiled sheets all day? Our spent bodies mingling with our shared bodily fluids?"

"Mister Cullen, you have such a way with words. Must be all that tutelage you received from a certain - " She stopped her words short of saying _that_ name.

"It's alright," Edward assured her. "We can speak of him. He needn't be erased from memory."

She turned on her stomach, her perky nipples tracing his skin. "Can I tell you something?"

"Anything."

"I'm going to miss him."

Edward ran the tips of his fingers down her soft porcelain cheek and silently sent a word of thanks to heaven, where he knew Alex now lived. _Thank you Alexander. For this moment with Isabella and for all the rest to come._

"I know," he answered finally. "Now, back to what you would like to do after we make love which, by the way, I would like to begin doing at once."

She laughed and inhaled the fresh scent of his skin. "I want to finish packing."

...

_"Mr. Romanoff has many outstanding balances and many anxious debt collectors throughout Europe and beyond. If necessary, his properties will be put up for auction but once everyone is paid, the rest is yours."_

_"Mine? The rest?"_

_"You were his, ehm, companion, yes? His brother Felix, who is now deceased, was his only living relative eligible for inheritance. The government will tax their share and, as I said, the remainder will be left to you. It won't be much but you have many pretty dresses, yes? And I'd imagine many valuable jewels? You'll do well, Miss Swan. Much better than most. There are difficult times to come."_

_..._

"You really want to return to Moscow?" Edward asked. "We could stay here in London. You made your statement to the police. Remember what they said? Demetri had many enemies. The investigation will prove that the incident on the riverbank was a business transaction gone wrong, of which _you_ were the bait. Nothing can be traced back to us. We're free. You can dance here and I'll find a job -"

"What about Alice? And Tanya and the others? What about your brother and Rosalie and the baby? I don't want to live in this flat. It's his. It reminds me of him, of my old life, the life you saved me from."

He hovered over her, caging her inside his lean, muscular arms, pressing her deep into the satin sheets and down pillows. Slowly he ran his nose over the the warm pulse in her neck causing her to shiver and let out a moan.

"_Save me again,_" she whispered, spreading her legs underneath him. He fell in between them, rhythmically grinding his long hard flesh along her wet slit.

"_Always_," he shuddered, aligning his glistening tip with her entrance. "_I'll always be here_."

"_Anywhere?_" she gasped, feeling him slowly push inside.

"_Everywhere_," he swore and with a rough thrust he entered her for the third time that day and she gasped and bowed her back to meet him again and it was fast and slow in all the right places. Their sweat slickened their movements. Her breasts rose as she gasped for breath and he dipped his head to lick in between her cleavage and each pink nipple he sucked and tongued and making love turned into frantic fucking. Her nails dug into his back and he loved the pain and the marks they made. He loved her tight pussy and how she moaned as he claimed it again and again with the knowledge that it was forever his. He pounded into her, rock hard and unyielding and she came violently, screaming as though she were in pain but he was nowhere near done. He slid his hands under her ass and her orgasm ripped through her a second time. She fisted his hair and kissed him and his taste was enough to tip her over the edge a third time.

"Oh god, Isabella. I felt that. I feel you coming." And he knew he was next. It had been so long since he had been with her this way. The soft texture of her skin sliding against his, her complete devotion to his power as he fucked her, the heat in her eyes as she loved every second of it. How had she gone without him for so long? How had she managed to wade through each day in a world where he lived where they were not together? Dance. It was all she had and even that hadn't been enough. It had been movement and theory but it hadn't been heart. It hadn't been trust and it hadn't been passion. Her passion was here, now, inside her, moving, throbbing, guiding, leading, filling her with his life.

...

"_Bella._"

"Yes?"

_"Bella._"

"Edward?"

"_Bella._"

"Edward, I'm here. Honey, you're dreaming, my love," she cooed in his warm ear. "Wake up if you want to see me." His eyes fluttered open. A grin spread across his sleepy face at the sight of Isabella hovering above him.

"Hi, sleepy head," she whispered, placing a peck on his lips. "Do you always talk in your sleep? Y'know, you've never called me _Bella_ before."

"I do in my dreams."

"And do I answer?"

He laughed lightly and nodded. "Yes. You like it."

"I bet I do. I like anything that comes from that mouth." She pressed her index finger to his lips and sighed. "Now go back to sleep. Finish your dream. You're exhausted."

He smiled, his lids still half shut but he didn't let go. "Be mine."

"I already am, you silly boy."

"Be with me, always."

"As if there were anywhere better," she kidded, snuggling into his side, her arm around his waist.

"Forever?"

"Yes," she giggled. He could go on like this all night. Half-asleep Edward rambling on and on about nothing.

"Prove it."

"Prove what?"

"Prove to me that you'll be mine forever. Be my wife."

**_Moscow, the present_**

"He asked you to be his wife?"

"Yes."

"And then you said - ?"

"I'll be his anything."

* * *

**aaaaand I'm going to end it there, folks. I could go on and on indefinitely but you've all been more than patient with me throughout this journey and I'm so thankful to you all for joining me as I purged this story from my system. if you liked this story, pls rec it to your friends and allow it to live on. xoxo.**


	52. Chapter 52

i am so honored once again to have one of my fics - the most difficult one I've written thus far - nominated for Fic of the Week over at The Lemonade Stand. it's a historical fic that deals with some CRAY to put it mildly and those of you that love it, REALLY LOVE IT! So go on over there, show some love and vote for her!

**tehlemonadestand. net**

**The gift to me, is you.**

Happy new year and keep on writing in 2013! ~~~~~~~~

FH


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